


Weltschmerz

by flambydelrabies



Series: Weltschmerz [1]
Category: Tales of Symphonia
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Break the Cutie, Canonical Character Death, Cruxis Lloyd, Emetophobia, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Character Death, Mutual Pining, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Shared Consciousness, Slow Burn, So much angst, discussion of suicide, exists within the lore of the original story but FAR from being a retelling of the game, former/mentioned sheelos, just trust me on this one, like legit the slowest of burns on the zelloyd, longfic, zelos centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:01:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 104,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23166676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flambydelrabies/pseuds/flambydelrabies
Summary: “Today is just another day, but it’s the one I’ve spent all my life dreading…”Tethe’alla is in decline, and now chosen of mana Zelos Wilder must embark on the journey of regeneration to restore its prosperity. Meanwhile, Lloyd Aurion is sent by Cruxis to keep a distant watch over Zelos as he releases the seals, and the two of them begin to realize that nothing is what it seems. [Now complete]
Relationships: Genis Sage/Mithos Yggdrasill, Lloyd Irving & Genis Sage, Lloyd Irving/Zelos Wilder, Mithos Yggdrasill & Zelos Wilder, Seles Wilder & Zelos Wilder, Sheena Fujibayashi & Zelos Wilder
Series: Weltschmerz [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1813603
Comments: 36
Kudos: 99





	1. Everything in its Right Place

**Author's Note:**

> HOO BOY this has existed in a brainstorming google doc since 2018, now it's finally a reality! Warning for brief emetophobia at the end of the chapter, chosen swap is not a new idea and has definitely been done before, but I wanted to put my own spin on it, even if it's not necessarily a new concept. I tried to stay as close to the original lore as possible but did take some liberties and this is gonna be significantly different from the game once it gets going. Around chapter 4-5 this diverges from the events of the game.
> 
> Just get through the first two chapters. I promise you.  
>   
> Edit as of 7/04/20: What was initially going to be an epilogue has become a sequel, so this work is now a series. Once you finish the last chapter, you can click through and read the second fic, Absurdities and Echoes, for more. I wrote Weltschmerz after brainstorming it with my IRL friends in 2018 and never expected it to blow up; I have grown a LOT as a writer since this went up, and this not my strongest writing by a long shot, but I have a soft spot for it because it's my first fic back in... any fandom, really, but also my first completed (and longest ever) multichapter. Get through it to read Absurdities, lol.
> 
> Edit as of 8/10/20: Thank you for 1000 views and such an overwhelmingly positive reception everyone! In honour of this milestone there is now art to accompany this fic. [You can find it on my tumblr here.](https://flambydelrabies.tumblr.com/post/626075062322200576/my-tos-fic-weltschmerz-has-passed-1000-views-i-am)  
> Also in honour on 1000 views, I went and re-read this fic and livetweeted my commentary. [ Click here for my brags, regrets, and TONS of fun trivia about this fic.](https://twitter.com/flambydelrabies/status/1292939627767246850)
> 
> This fic also has fanart [here](https://twitter.com/ZettasRen/status/1258892813707739136) and [here](https://twitter.com/flambydelrabies/status/1288329189851123714)!
> 
> With that said, enjoy.

_welt·schmerz  
_ _[velt-shmerts]_  
noun, German.

_sorrow that one feels and accepts as one's necessary portion in life; sentimental pessimism._

//

Twenty-first. Night. Monday. Silhouette of the capitol in darkness.

Today was none other than Lloyd Aurion’s eighteenth birthday, the day he had spent all his life preparing for: that in which he would present the chosen of Tethe’alla with the oracle from Cruxis, and thus, the journey of world regeneration would finally begin. 

Lloyd gazes into one of the many mirrors that face his room in the city of Welgaia and he feels a certain discomfort at the reflection staring back at him. He furrows his brows and adjusts the collar of his coat; _‘Man, what a stuffy outfit,’_ he thinks to himself in deafening silence, distaste strewn across his face as evident as the evening sky. The arms are tight and form-fitting, and there are far too many buckles for his taste. _‘Why do I even have to wear this again?_ ’

Before he can waste any more precious time pondering his uncomfortable outfit, the door slides open without so much as a warning. Lloyd does not see the visitor, but he recognizes their voice the very moment they open their mouth.

“Lloyd,” Kratos' voice booms quick, rough, and sharply; there is no hesitation in his tone. “Today is the day the oracle is to be bestowed upon the Chosen of Mana. As soon as you've finished your preparations, we will be leaving for Meltokio.”

A mixture of excitement and anxiety churns in Lloyd’s stomach, the knifelike sensation of pins and needles running down the back of his neck distracting him from adjusting the last buckle around his waist. 

“Yeah, the day Cruxis has been training me all my life for. I know, I know. I’m going on a journey, Dad,” he attempts to muster more enthusiasm than he feels. “I’m going to make you and everyone else proud.” 

While the enthusiasm is still there, it is only natural for one to feel the same growing nervousness that Lloyd feels in the pit of his stomach when faced with a task such as this-- his first mission from Cruxis was one of high stakes, and an ever higher price to pay for any foolish blunders.

“I believe in your abilities, Lloyd, and furthermore, this is an opportunity to prove your worthiness to Lord Yggdrasill,” Kratos replies as Lloyd gives one last adjustment to his blood-red collar. “Now, if you're ready, we will be leaving.”

An anxious smile creeps across Lloyd’s face-- the finest he could muster, given the circumstances. “Thanks, Dad. Let’s go.”

//

It is now eight o’clock in the evening and Meltokio had never once seen its church filled to capacity before tonight. The entire hall threatens to overflow with Royals and the upper-class, those who had been invited to observe what will hopefully be a once-in-a-lifetime spectacle for the citizens of Tethe’alla; some had paid significant amounts of Gald to be there, with others having been invited based on status and connections alone. Many even traveled from across the world just to see the oracle, for with any luck, it will be the catalyst to Tethe’alla's reign of prosperity once more. As the _tick, tick_ ing clock began counting down the seconds between and now and then _\--one Martel, two Martel, three--_ each inhabitant of the radiant hall was currently waiting on the guest of honour: none other than the chosen of Tethe’alla himself.

An aristocrat in a cocktail dress exclaims “I hope it’s successful this time,” while swirling her glass of champagne-- “Yeah, my business is going to go under if mana keeps declining like this,” says another, taking a sip of her own glass and leaving a lipstick stain around the brim _(these are cosmetics of the highest quality, of course-- the upper class would settle for nothing less)._

In the castle only a short few doors away, Zelos Wilder paces back and forth as he prepares for his life to change forever in all the _worst ways_. Spanning from his childhood until this very night, he had been to countless dinner parties that put him on display like some sort of object, but tonight is different in ways that make his stomach spin in circles. Tonight, he was there to be the star of the show, performing a dance he never wanted in the first place, and he couldn't think of anything less appealing.

The chosen fine-tunes his simple bowtie and suit jacket, then practices putting on his fake smile; the same as ever, but with the glaring difference being that this time, he triple-checks every little detail to cover the filth underneath. _‘Today is just another day, but it’s the one I’ve spent all my life dreading,’_ he thinks, ever-composed in spite of stifling anxieties. 

One foot in front of the other, one breath in, one breath out. Chosen of Mana, here to save the world; it was all exactly as fun as it sounded. _‘Still can’t help but feel like they chose wrong,’_ he broods with a smirk sharp enough to split his face in two. Maybe if he really _did_ find some way to maim himself beyond recognition, going on this journey would be out of the question. Too late for that now. With the church waiting and the angels on their way, there was no point of running.

Zelos winks at his own reflection as he turns towards the door. _‘Well, I suppose it’s time for me to put on that show.’_ Before his hand had time to hit the knob, he stops and looks in the mirror just one last time; he frowns comically before continuing on his way.

_'Man, what a stuffy outfit…’_

//

The doors of the church fly open and everybody inside gasps in surprise as Zelos enters the vast, crowded room; an entrance fit for the King, much less the world's soon-to-be-saviour. Once the observers recognize the presence as that of the chosen himself, a round of applause creeps throughout the hall like a scurrying insect: some clink their glasses, some cry out _“You’re going to save us, chosen one!”_ while they place their gaze among the butterfly crawling into a trap before their eyes. 

Zelos walks up to the altar with two priests from the church following closely in his stead, for the moment they had all been waiting for was here at long last. _One foot in front of the other, one breath in, one breath out._ He takes a quick bow in front of the audience he so despises as the applause continues to grow-- he wanted the journey to come as much as he wanted a knife pressed to his neck, so he figures instead that the least he can do is take in the adoration for now. Never too much of _that_ when you're none other than _the chosen himself_. 

One moment, he’s eating up attention that he _loves_ and _hates_ concurrently in textbook Zelos Wilder fashion, and the next, a glaring flash of light engulfs the church, temporarily blinding everyone in the room. Bright like what could be said of an angel's wings, and not a single analogy could be more fitting-- as the light starts to settle and the church begins to flicker back sight, Zelos begins to make out the silhouettes of two figures standing only feet away from him: one a white-winged angel, the other a brunette with blades resting against both his sides.

There is a pause in the room in which all the people inhabiting it become dead silent, a stark contrast from the chatter that filled the empty spaces only minutes before. To all the Royals and guests, this was nothing more than a show to behold; to Zelos, it was nothing less than his foreordained destiny. Not that any of that mattered to a single person but _him._ After all, they weren’t the ones about to be led to their demise. It was his head resting delicately on the chopping block, and no-one else’s.

“My name is Lloyd Aurion,” the brunette hesitates, leaving a sharp, awkward pause between sentences. “I come on behalf of Cruxis, and I am here to bestow the Cruxis crystal upon the chosen of Tethe’alla.” A shorter, more subdued round of applause ensues as everyone leans in anticipation. Every moment, a sight to behold for the crowd of aristocrats, and another nanosecond Zelos wants nothing more than to crawl out of his own skin.

Lloyd glances over at the angel by his side. “Remiel, the Cruxis crystal,” he says, and almost immediately a small, red gem is placed in his hands. In appearance alone, it hardly differed from a ruby with its smooth, crimson red surface, but the soft pulsations Lloyd felt between the tips of his fingers as he held the gem told him it was _nothing_ like any other stone.

He reaches out and hands the crystal to Zelos, waiting to set it down in the chosen’s open palm. “All you have to do is place this on your chest. Do you accept this task?”

Zelos replies with a quick nod and an infamous half-smile; always the charm for an extra touch. _“Yes,”_ he says in the same way he wished he could have said _“Just choose another chosen, for everyone's sake, dammit”_. Still, he obliges, gripping the gem with enough force that its tiny murmur of a heartbeat pulsates in the palm of his hand. Without much further ado, the chosen places the crystal exactly where the emissary of Cruxis requests. 

Immediately, the stone fuses with his body in perfect synthesis with his own beating heart, and the entire room roars with applause and cheers. _“The world is going to be restored!”_ one is heard shouting from the crowd-- _“The chosen one, our saviour!”_ exclaims another. There is nothing to be said of their enthusiasm, aside from being self-serving by nature of their voyeurism alone. After all, chosen aren't human, aren't people-- they are simply _chosen_ , on display for the world to see, and tonight in this moment more than ever. 

Remiel stares into the crowd and chooses to speak for the first time, perhaps because there was nothing to say, or simply because Cruxis wanted an angel to show off. It was clear that the brunette wasn't one, or at the very least he was an angel just as holy as Zelos was _(which, of course, is to say ‘hardly more than in title alone’ in the kindest way possible)_. 

“The first seal will be found to the north, located in the furthest corner of this continent,” Remiel says, his voice thundering and void of all expression. “We of Cruxis await your arrival.” With another flash of light, the duo were gone as quickly as they arrived.

A stark pause ensues as the stifling brightness subsides, wherein everyone looks to Zelos and asks _'What's next?'_ in silence; he feels between his sharp collarbones where the Cruxis crystal now lies, forever a reminder of what he was born to do. Tomorrow, he embarks, but tonight, he celebrates as an aristocrat for the very last time. 

“Now now, my hunnies, and even the gentlemen too,” The chosen grabs a glass of champagne and raises it towards the ceiling. The least he could do was turn a funeral into a party. “Who’s ready for world regeneration!?”

Zelos couldn’t possibly ask for more of a _‘see you soon’_ party than the very one he received that night, because it was the last time he knew had some semblance of _control_ over something, _anything,_ about his own life from this very moment onward. Instead, he spends the night socializing, flirting, and eating up the attention from high society: _‘Ah, yes, I really will save the world, even just to see your darling smile, hunny…’_ Sophisticated, well-dressed, upper-class, and all of it so terribly _fake_.

//

As Zelos exits the church well past sundown, drunk on champagne and adoration from his fans, he is approached by the last few priests who had stayed past the oracle; so irresponsible, leaving others to clean his messes. It wouldn’t be the first time, and based on the trajectory of his very life it certainly wouldn’t be the last.

“Chosen one, please stop at the church before you embark on your journey. We will be presenting you with companions to accompany you throughout the trials.” 

Zelos gives a slurred “Got it” in response before stumbling back to his mansion, ready to sleep and dream until he can’t anymore. While he changes out of his formal attire, all he notices is the crystal entrapped within his chest, its glow pulsating with his throb of a heartbeat. The bright red orb stuck out like a sore thumb against his pale skin, even more so than the bright red lipstick marks strewn over his neck _(I’ll have you know-- it’s high class, only the finest for the Royals of Tethe’alla)._

As he stares at the Cruxis crystal, he can’t help but think about how as of tomorrow, his life changes forever, and it all starts with a marble-sized piece of stone. 

The next morning comes quicker than he expected, having wanted to spend his last restful night sleeping soundly before the journey began, just as anyone would. As Zelos was generally a late sleeper and difficult to wake, perhaps more than a mere five hours would have been nice as well; instead, he was cursed only to wake early when his mind wandered-- perhaps even his subconscious grew tired of him on such a fateful night. He certainly wouldn’t blame himself for that.

The first light of morning creeps through his window and as it moves to warm his skin, he begins to open his eyes at last. _“Man, what time is it?”_ he says to no-one in particular, running a hastened hand through his tangled red hair-- a flame to match the one that burned in his veins at the thought of what he must do, beginning in mere hours at most. A glance towards the clock opposite his lavish bed indicated it was shortly after five-thirty in the morning. Two and a half hours; he could count the seconds if he wanted to. It was hardly worthwhile to return to bed by now, but he still had hours to kill before he arranged to meet the priests today.

Zelos never _did_ like being in limbo. 

His next exhale is sharp and piercing, breathing out anxieties he could only bring himself to express in these moments of solitude. “Might as well kill some time, I guess.” A short, hastened wave of a hand and he pulls out a polished leather bag to prepare for the journey, but he can’t bring himself to start packing it. Instead, he sits on his bed and watches the sun rise.

The pale orange tones dance across the sky, waxing and waning for hours upon hours until finally dissolving into the pure blue hues of day. Zelos appreciates it while he can, as he knew it would never look the same to him again.

//

The first thing Zelos sees as he approaches the church is a familiar scowling face, and naturally, he couldn’t be happier. “Oh, _hunny,_ it’s so good to see you!” when he winks, the scowl only growls bigger, more menacing, and clearly _pissed off_.

“Sheena of Mizuho has been sent to accompany you on your journey,” one of the priests proclaims while Sheena averts her eyes. It had certainly been a number of years since Zelos' path had last crossed with hers, and the awkward tenacity surging between the two newfound companions was stifling. 

“Don’t think I’m here because I want to be. You’re gonna need me if you want to do anything about the summon spirits,” her voice rasps as she crosses her arms in discontent. “After all, summoning _is_ a lost art.”

“As lost as your affection for me? You’re breaking my heart,” Zelos smirks.

Their bickering is cut short by the Papal knights approaching from behind, their armor clinking with each step that guides a well-built man in tow, sporting iron shackles around his wrists. “We have come to present you with your next companion.”

The prisoner speaks, his eyes blank and his expression even more-so. “My name is Regal, and I am a prisoner serving time for the crime of murder.” 

Zelos raises an eyebrow before the older man continues. “The church has offered to clear me of my crimes if I aid in the chosen’s journey.”

 _‘Sheena, and some random murderer? This is going to be fun,'_ Zelos needles through his mind as he restrains a bemused chuckle. Everything about the journey that had come to light thus far only made Zelos want to complete it even less. Despite winning the gold medal at _running away_ , there was no easy way out of this; it would seem nothing is more rotten than destiny. _'At least once I finish, I can come home and return to whatever the hell I was doing before.'_

That was the kind of naivety that would break him. 

Upon a further bout of staring and squinting, he begins to find Regal’s face awfully familiar: considering the magnitude of people he has spoken to across Tethe'alla, it would not come as a surprise if their paths had crossed at one point or another. Why he would know a _prisoner_ serving time for _murder_ was beyond him, but still a worthwhile probe, if nothing more. 

“Say, pops, have we met before?”

Regal’s eyes widen for no more than a splitting, daring second before he readopts his previous stoic composure. “No. Perhaps you’re thinking of someone else.”

One of the two armored knights at his side speaks to address the group, but whether to ease their worries or justify the choice to send him along was unknown. “Regal is a skilled fighter. We hope that you find those abilities helpful during the journey.”

Zelos shrugs as his mouth twists into another one of his sly grins. “So that’s it, just these two? No more chicks or dudes you’re sending with me?”

“That’s all,” replies the priest. “Your first stop is the Temple of Earth. We recommend you prepare your belongings before you leave.”

“Then it’s decided!” Zelos exclaims, his voice booming with energy-- a surprising amount of energy, even, considering how little sleep he managed the night before. It was far too early in the day _and_ the journey for the mask to slip. “We’re going back to my crib for a bit. There’s something I gotta do before we head out.”

Sheena looks from Zelos to Regal, then back again. “Fine, but make it quick. Looks like me and this guy are already ready to go.”

“Oh, you got it. I’ll be out in no time at all.”

The chosen’s newly formed triad arrives at the Wilder residence, the multi-tiered mansion casting a shadow that engulfed the three heroes. A palace fit for a Royal family, yet inhabited only by Zelos and his faithful butler. Sheena, at the very least, knew all too well that _‘family’_ was a topic not to be broached around the chosen under any circumstances. That, _at least_ , is one thing she knew as well as her own name hadn’t changed since they saw each other last.

Without further ado, Zelos darts up the stairs to his room before even taking the time to show his guests where to put down their belongings; after all, this detour was one with a purpose to him. Once Zelos had left, one foot after the other, Regal and Sheena found themselves alone, standing in the centre of what must have been the living room-- or, perhaps, the second or third living room in a mansion so grand. 

The gentle-eyed prisoner then turns to Sheena, taking careful note of the bleak, buzzing tensions in the room. “Sheena, are you feeling nervous?”

She laughs in response. It was a shaky flutter of a laugh, but a laugh nonetheless. “No. But... also, yeah, I guess a little bit at the same time. Why do you ask?”

“Because the last chosen passed away before he was able to complete the journey,” Regal proclaims with apprehension thick in his voice, staring out the caged mansion window into the sky. “You would have been young then, but many of us still remember when the King announced his death.”

“Yeah, I was pretty young back then, but many of the elders in Mizuho even remember when the world was still flourishing. They used to tell stories about it to us when we were kids, then some stories that were passed onto them by their own parents too.” Sheena’s mouth trembles like tiny tremors that line her lips. “What makes me nervous is that I know there’s more to it than that.”

Regal frowns. “What do you mean?”

A pensive sigh was given back to him in return. “The last chosen was Zelos’ father, and he didn’t die on the journey.” She stops abruptly before continuing, as if cutting the energy in the room with a dagger. “The day of the oracle, he took his own life.”

A feeling of metallic heaviness washes over the two companions as the true weight of the journey begins to set in; whatever it meant, there was quantitative evidence in his father’s body that it was a hardship unlike any other. There was certainly a reason Zelos never spoke of his family, much less in any positive regard; his father’s suicide was a well-known, little-spoken secret articulated in hushed voices among the aristocracy. By now, everyone had learned better than to bring up the topic around him, whether out of respect or simply to be polite-- either reason sufficed. Still, knowing of the former chosen's fatal demise, the silence is deafening as Regal ponders the words to choose next; there are few right or valiant ways to respond to something so grim. 

“Being the chosen must be a tremendously difficult burden to bear,” he finally replies, and such a short, simple statement is enough.

Tension begins to alleviate as Sheena nods her head, arms crossed firmly against her abdomen. “Yeah. And that’s why we’ve gotta help Zelos succeed. I don’t think he can do this alone.”

And Zelos doesn't, either. 

He finds himself seated at his writing desk, scribbling away on a thin pad of note paper as if his life depended on it. Before leaving on the journey, there’s just _one thing_ he has to do.

_Heya!_

_Well, today’s the day! I’m gonna go save the world._

_But don’t worry, I could never forget you-- I’ll write as often as I can._

_Or, at least, until you get bored of hearing about all my super cool travels._

_That too. Maybe if I'm in the area, I'll even come and visit._

_First up, we’re off to the Temple of Earth and we’ll see where that takes us. Try not to worry about me._

_It’s going to be a tough journey, but I can handle it. I always do, right?_

_I’ll write again soon._

He scrawls his name at the bottom in his signature haphazard handwriting, and as soon as the party of three exit the mansion, Zelos drops the letter in the closest mailbox to be taken and never seen again. With that, they leave Meltokio and step into the wilted green wilderness surrounding the city. 

How Zelos wishes with every step he takes that one of the priests flags him down saying _“I’m sorry, we chose wrong! You’re free!”_ , but with each pace his feet make against the ground, the only thing that follows in his wake is dust and his two companions-- even _they_ had been picked for him. As the chosen gazes into the wide-open world, much to his ever-growing dismay, the journey of regeneration begins at last.

//

Tethe’alla’s air is humid and muggy; after all, one can only expect so much from the world in decline as it fights with the flourishing one for mana. “Man,” Zelos says, stretching his hands over his head. “Where the hell are we going again?”

The chosen's group carry down the southern pathway, their feet sinking into the grit with each step forward. Perhaps the journey wouldn’t be so bad after all-- lots of walking, release the seals, make the pacts, more walking. At least if that were the case, they could be in and out-- _'Hello, goodbye, the world is saved, my job here is done'._ The quicker the pace, the better.

“Temple of Earth, idiot. They must have said it like, three times.” Sheena's words are cold and cutting, leaving Zelos to draw a fake tear down his face with his right hand.

“Yeah, but I’ve never been there before. I don’t know where I’m going!”

Regal gives an exasperated sigh, quick and piercing. “Chosen, we were following your lead.”

Sheena then sighs, too, only a few seconds too late for one in perfect harmony. “You packed that giant map for a reason. Why don’t you try using it? Or your head, for that matter?” She laughs, and Regal lets out a quiet chuckle as well. Maybe the man with such a solemn face _did_ have a sense of humour, even if it was at Zelos' expense. 

“Excellent idea, Sheena! You’ve got both beauty and brains!” Zelos pulls out a tattered map from his bag and unfolds it, unfolds it again, and then unfolds it just _one_ more time. Before long, he holds a piece of parchment between his hands that nearly stretches an entire arm’s length.

He points to the dot labelled simply and plainly as _‘Meltokio’_ , then carefully examines his surroundings. With all the withering trees and bushes around them, every direction looked the same. 

“Hmm. It looks like the temple is more or less a straight walk up from Meltokio. Unfortunately, it also looks like we’re going in the wrong direction.”

Sheena and Regal both let out a heavy sigh again, and this time, their tune really was in unison. _“This is going to be a long journey...”_ The three turn around and try to navigate the way that they came, their feet sinking into the ground like quicksand all the way. 

//

“So let me get this straight,” Zelos says, “when we release the seal, we’re also supposed to form a pact with the summon spirit at the same time? Since when?”

The party chooses their footsteps carefully in the Temple of Earth-- the ground was uneven and the footing was poor, leaving everyone particularly cautious of their surroundings. While the layout of the temple reeked of treachery, the puzzles could be solved using half-of a brain alone, which served Zelos Wilder, underachiever supreme well, to say the least. 

“Since always, didn’t you study the journey in school? That’s why they made me go along with you.” Unlike the pathways outside the temple, many of the bridges within were rickety, unstable, and risked falling apart with one wrong move. Sheena rolls her eyes, and while unfocused on her movements, she narrowly misses a tumble onto the ground below. 

In response, Zelos playfully frowns, but she declines an outstretched arm to help her back on her feet. “Aw, hunny, what do I have to do to make you like me again? Do I have to save you from the big, scary bridge?"

“Just… be quiet. That’s all I can ask.”

The chosen grins. “Sorry. Can’t do that. I think we all love the sound of my voice too much for that." 

With weighted hearts and increasingly irritated eyes, in less time than was spent traveling from Meltokio to the Temple of Earth-- less than three hours, to be exact-- the party arrives at the room of the seal, wide open with a clearing to fight. The obstacles in this temple were not particularly treacherous, and Zelos begins to wonder whether it was all the seals that were simple, or if they just had him start off with the easiest one. All he longed for was to go home. The rest of the details were none of his concern.

The closer they get to the altar, the more the three companions could feel the pressure of repressed mana threatening to burst, causing all the hair on their bodies to stand on end. Such a feeling could only have been unique to a situation like this, as subtle tremors vibrated throughout each follicle with every pulsation. It must be similar to drowning, if they had been drowning in hot air and pressure rather than any sort of water, but _equally uncomfortable_. Upon approaching further, they felt a slight release of that dormant mana as the summon spirit of Earth appeared before them; less suffocating, though not much else could be said. The pressure still seemed overwhelming, and breathing still felt near impossible. 

“Wow! The chosen of regeneration already!? Feels just like yesterday since the last one of ya stopped by here…” Gnome exclaims, his voice jovial, as if he hadn't laughed in eons. Considering the amount of time he spent dormant as he awaited the next chosen's arrival, it had _clearly_ been many years since the last time he had a chance to laugh or cry. Zelos figures he can at least allow him that much for now, before Gnome begins to continue.

"Oh, that’s right, it’s gotta be at least a hundred years since the last time a chosen from this world started the journey. Sylvarant switched the mana a little while ago, eh?”

Zelos was familiar with the Summon Spirits, having read all about them in his studies as a child, and Gnome was known throughout the books as being notoriously _annoying_. 

He sighs, dramatically placing his head in his palm. Theatrical to a fault. “Enough of the exposition already. Can we just fight you? C’mon, we’ve got three more seals to go after this. Let's get it over with!”

“Yeah, yeah. Bring it on!” The summon spirit jumps off the pedestal of magitechnology, sharp stalagmites cracking through the earth and shooting up from the ground in his wake. The first fight of the first seal, marking the first step toward the finish line; nothing had ever looked sweeter. Surely, a trend that would continue after each seal unlocked. 

While the battle rages onward, Regal spins, leaps, and kicks, attacking the summon spirit head on and full-force. Zelos begins to see why this prisoner, of all people, was sent to accompany; his unconventional skill of fighting with his feet really did prove to be useful.

“Man, so that’s how you fight with those shackles on!” shouts Zelos between swift melee attacks. 

_Demon Fang-- Sonic Thrust-- Light Spear--_

Blow after blow was not only dealt, but taken; Zelos quickly becomes thankful that they stocked up on gels before leaving. _‘Man, it would be nice to have some sort of healer with us…’_ he ponders between casting first aid spells as quickly as his mana would allow. _‘I can’t keep doing both this and the frontlines.’_

He’s right, as flipping between two roles simultaneously was proving to become an increasing challenge. The fight had to be over soon, and thankfully, it _was._

With one, final arte, the battle ends as quickly as it began as Sheena deals the final blow with an explosive Pyre Seal, leaving Gnome on the ground mumbling _“You guys... are better than I thought.”_

Zelos recomposes, tending to minor scrapes and wounds that littered his arms like bloodied freckles. He had been trained in the art of swordplay by the Royal Knights the moment he turned fifteen, but the rigorous training he endured for so many years paled in comparison to fighting anyone aside from his mentors. The foreign feeling was unfamiliar at best, and completely soul-sucking at worst-- a completely different practice when it’s _real_. 

While the spirit gets himself up and adjusts to the feeling of defeat, his energy begins to return in the form of further mana seeping throughout the room, enough to breathe clearly and with ease again.

“So, you wanna make a pact and release the seal, then?”

Sheena, the summoner sent to make the pacts of prosperity, approaches Gnome with silent footsteps-- one could feel the anxiety radiating from her body even fifteen feet away. After all, she hoped to make this her first successful pact with a summon spirit, and she was just as scared of looking weak as she was of failure; to her, failure reeked less of embarrassment than it did of _death_.

“I am Sheena of Mizuho, and I… I ask that thy establish a pact with me to save this declining world from its inevitable destruction.” She pauses, a single bead of sweat running down the side of her face-- something that would only be noticeable to those hovering inches away. Still, she maintains composure as much as her body will allow, shoving those uncertainties as far down as she could manage.

Gnome laughs, but there was certainly no reason for him to decline. “Well, I mean. You did beat me in a fight, and you guys are here to release the seals. How can I say no?” He raises an arm, an off-white glow emitting from his fingers. “I bestow my power upon the chosen’s group!”

Zelos gulps as the spirit begins to fade away and the harsh swallow drops to his stomach, only to never stop dropping. “Guess it’s time for me to do my good ol’ thing, huh?” 

Jaunting up to the altar, he reaches out in front of him, palm directly to the sky. He was guessing what to do just as much as he was reciting all the intricacies the church had taught him of the journey _(that he swiftly forgot, of course),_ but whatever he was doing, it was certainly _working_. As the room begins to brighten, the suffocating repression of mana they felt upon entering the seal finally releases, pouring out like water onto dry soil.

In a short succession of moments, the room is filled with an incredible flash of light, just like that of the oracle-- Zelos knows it has to be the emissaries of Cruxis, but Sheena and Regal had never experienced it before. The entire seal and altar have gone white and the party's eyes begin to burn, the same way one begins to see stars when staring into the sun for far too long: brilliant, but horribly painful.

“What’s happening!?” Sheena exclaims with haste, covering her eyes with her gloved arm so as not to be blinded. In turn, Regal grunts and tries not to look into the light for exactly the same reason. It was ached in their temples and burned into their retinas, but the worst part of it was still the unfamiliarity more than anything else. 

Before them stood Lloyd and Remiel, the same beings who bestowed the oracle only the night before. Zelos takes quick note of the apprehension splayed across Lloyd's face; he appears uncertain, or at the very least, inexperienced. After all, the chosen is a perceptive person to a fault-- the careful sensation he feels in his bones takes note of every little detail of the body language, inflection, and presentation of the people around him. Those said people are incredibly lucky that he keeps everything he notices filed into the back of his mind, rather than spoken out loud. After all, as the chosen, one can't afford to make any enemies, even if only considering the value of their life to the church alone.

“Good work, Chosen of Tethe’alla,” Remiel’s voice booms from the altar. “We of Cruxis bestow upon you the first stage of your transformation.”

Rays cascade down from the sky, engulfing the chosen’s being without a minute to spare; when the light subsides, his body begins to lose its strength as if pricking holes into his skin to bloodlet, and he keels over in searing pain. As the feeling of feverish daggers flows from the Cruxis crystal and into Zelos’ shoulders, the sharp, burning sensation culminates with a pair of pale orange wings erupting from his back.

Lloyd watches in awe, his coal eyes wide as the chosen grows translucent wings. In his eighteen years as a member of Cruxis, he had certainly seen wings before, but never someone _grow_ wings. Something about it was horrifying; something about it was beautiful. 

The shock he felt was evidenced by speechlessness that lasted until the chosen’s group began to stare blankly, wondering what was to come next. 

“I--” Lloyd began, trying to compose himself once more. “I… You can find the next seal across the sea in the Temple of Lightning,” he looks at Zelos. “Once you release the seal, you will be one step closer to saving the world.”

Zelos laughs under his breath in spite of the growing discomfort that infected his body like a virus. _‘I get it now. This guy’s an amateur.’_ He doesn't dare speak it; there would be no reason to. Poking fun at the emissaries of Cruxis would clearly get him nowhere, especially with the blood dripping down his back directly of their doing.

The chosen is now is down on his knees clutching his chest, a sharp pain he’d never experienced before shooting through his shoulderblades and muscles. This pain was unfamiliar, one he could not easily compare to anything he had felt before-- always a sign he would remember it for the rest of his days. The only thing he could think to describe it as was a searing sensation, just like freezing and burning at the same time. Whatever it was, it could be summed up just as well by one word alone: _'hell'_.

“Yeah. Sounds good. _Neeeext!_ ” he grunts, managing to fake laughter as the envoys of Cruxis disappear once more. His back is _aching_ as he stands up again, but despite his quick stumble, he keeps the mask aligned.

“Wow, _you_ , an angel? You’re the _least_ angelic person I know." Sheena’s voice oozes with quick-witted mockery, her words only comparable to viscera dripping from a knife.

Zelos tries to ignore the throbbing discomfort in his body, and he puts on a show instead: his favourite thing to do in the face of vulnerability, so as to be noticed for all the wrong reasons rather than the _right_ ones. “Oh, it looks like somebody is a little jealous that I'm gonna be the one to save the world!” 

None of his words of confidence changed the fact that he agreed with her.

With some effort and the same crippling pain shooting through his back again, he retracts his wings into his body; there was no use keeping them out when he didn’t need them for anything. Even their existence alone only served as a reminder of all the things about himself he hated: his genetics, his title, his lineage, and everything in his life he lacked control of. There was certainly much to despise.

Scowling quietly, Sheena begins to walk towards the entrance while Regal and Zelos follow suit. There was no use wasting time now that their objective was complete. “Oh, whatever. I’m tired, and I’m sure Regal could use some rest too." 

Regal gives a subtle _'Hmph'_ in response. "Let’s get out of here and get some sleep." 

Upon exiting the temple, Sheena gestures to the bushes and long, straw-textured grass. This clearing was located far enough from the temple that there was more privacy for the three companions, but even still, one could still throw a stone into the seal room and hit the altar. 

“ _Noooo!_ ” Zelos exclaims. “We have to sleep outside!?”

A frown from Regal, drooping his eyelids and allowing himself to accept rest in an unconventional place. “It would take hours to walk back to Meltokio, and there is no House of Guidance in sight. This is our best option.” 

“If we’re going to keep doing this, this is going to be the hardest part of the journey-- by far! I'm going to get _bugs_ in my hair!”

“Okay, princess.” Sheena stirs a small pot of plain rice over a humble campfire: it was only but a small blaze to illuminate the darkness, set up with some twigs from the bushes and a hastened fire spell. The rice, however, looked delicious, but it also looked hardly substantial enough to feed three people.

“Now get over and have some of my rice, or I’ll give your portion to Regal.”

“Fine, fine. I always liked your rice dishes anyway, hunny,” he laughs, she scowls.

//

The aches and pains were subsiding, but not fast enough for Zelos’ comfort. As much as he hated to own up to it, his tolerance for physical pain was relatively small, and much smaller than he would ever willingly admit to anyone else. The mask could only stay in place for so long, and the chosen would not dare show vulnerability to anyone-- he rarely even showed true vulnerability to _himself_. 

_‘I don’t feel so good,’_ Zelos ponders as he begins to feel sick-- differentiating what kind of sickness, however, was impossible for him. He can't tell if the sickness has to do with his back, his stomach, or with himself. _‘Maybe it was something in the rice…’_

Zelos walks to the edge of the bushes, and within minutes, the feeling in his back migrates to his stomach and chest, twisting and searing in ways he couldn't comprehend feeling in such gruesome harmony. It’s sharp, but it aches-- it’s tender, but agonizing. His throat begins to burn, and before he can process what’s happening at all, Zelos keels over and his body rejects everything in his stomach. He's shaking on his hands and knees heaving now until suddenly, it's all over as quickly as it began. 

His body trembles, running his fingers over the crystal directly in the middle of his chest. He couldn't even tell what it was that hurt anymore. _'"Angel transformation'"? What am I becoming?’_ he whispers, flicking the retch from the corners of his mouth. What a sight it would be to behold for both admirers and enemies alike. 

Sheena’s voice is barely audible behind him. “Hey. Zelos.”

Zelos stops and turns around ever-so-slowly; he tries with momentous effort to regain his sense of control in any way he can before he has to look someone in the eyes. 

The summoner gives a half-hearted sigh, running her hand through her high ponytail. “I’m sorry I called you princess. You didn’t have to throw up the rice.” 

He stops and takes a slight step backwards, letting his facade slip for only a second. _She saw_. There were very few ways it could get worse from here. “I’m sorry, hunny. I’m just too pretty to be stuck hanging out in the bushes and sleeping outside!”

Sheena glares at him sharply enough to scream _'cut the bullshit'_ with her gaze alone. “Look, Zelos, I want to talk to you about something.” Her face shows a look of genuine sadness now, eyes turned downwards and all their usual banter grinding directly to a gripping halt. 

“I know things didn’t work out between us, but I don’t want you to think that you can’t talk to me about stuff. I care, okay? I know it doesn’t seem like it sometimes, but I do. Especially if we’re going to be stuck on this journey together. I want to make sure you have someone to talk to.”

A light chuckle escapes his lips as he croons toward her, artificial as ever. “Aww, that’s so sweet. I knew you missed me. Don’t worry, there’s enough of me to go around, but I’m afraid you’ll just have to share!”

Sheena’s eyes quickly become knives as anger radiates from every pore in her body. “You stupid chosen-- you can’t take _anything_ seriously! I’m going to bed!”

As she walks away into the darkness with her belt’s pink ribbon trailing behind, all Zelos can do is laugh to himself in deafening silence. His translucent wings spread out behind him, and all the while, blood drips down his back once more as the fractured wings tear through his skin. _‘If only you knew what this was like, Sheena… if only you knew.’_

The sky was pitch black now, with the only light as far as the eye could see coming from the fire they had started hours ago. The chosen reaches nervously into his bag, pulling out a notepad and pen he then deposits directly into his lap. Exhaling deeply, he places pen to paper and finally allows himself to drop the mask, even if for only a few short minutes. That was all he needed.

_Seles,_

_Hey. I know it hasn’t been that long, but I just released the first seal on my journey and I wanted to let you know how I’m doing._

_I’ll admit that things are a little strange right now. The guys from Cruxis are talking about transformations and angels,_

_and I’ve kind of realized I have no idea what this journey is all about._

_I’m still going to do it because I don’t really have any other choice, but I’m not sure how confident I'm feeling now that the first seal is done._

_We’re going to the Temple of Lightning next, and I’m sure it will be fine. I don’t want to worry you._

_I know we haven’t seen each other in a pretty long time, but I’m thinking about you._

_\- Big Bro_

//

Welgaia’s cold, quiet, and twisted halls echo with each footstep Kratos and Lloyd make as they pitter-patter through the city of angels. Lloyd had always been lonely growing up-- Kratos and Yuan had mentored him, teaching him how to wield a sword and defend himself, but the few people he was able to talk to otherwise were subordinates of Cruxis who only treated him as _‘son of Kratos’_. He was little more than a bird in a cage, if the cage were a frigid City of Angels he had been doomed to live atop down to this very day.

However, in this very moment, not even a pale orange sunset had passed since the chosen released the first seal and Lloyd ruminates, his thoughts running quickly enough they could have jumped out of his mind entirely. 

“Say, Dad,” he thinks out loud, scratching his chin. “When you grew wings, what did it feel like? Did it hurt?”

Kratos stares ahead blankly with no further indication of thoughts or beliefs given. “The angel transformation is not without pain. It is simply an obstacle one must overcome if they wish to use the Cruxis crystal.” His voice was numb and lifeless, much as it ever was, and much as the rest of the angels were.

“The chosen today, when he released the seal-- he looked like he was in pain.” The father-and-son duo pass a low-ranking angel of Cruxis who quickly slips a _“good evening, lord Kratos”_ in their direction as they continue down the hall. Lloyd gives a friendly wave in return, while Kratos simply keeps walking before they reach their destination. 

The two men stop in front of Lloyd’s room in the very-most corner of the lower bunkers; despite being the only son of one of the four seraphim, Lloyd was still to stay with the subordinates. _'Earn their respect'_ , they said, and oh, how he _hoped_ to after this mission had been completed. 

“You have done a satisfactory job thus far, Lloyd. Once you successfully guide the chosen through his journey, Lord Yggdrasill hopes to present you with a Cruxis crystal of your own.”

The brunette takes a seat on his bed, the blankets still unmade from the night before. “I’m just wondering,” his lips curve downwards as a wave of uncertainty washes over his body. “Why are we doing this? Why do we have the chosen go on the journey and release the seals? All my life I’ve been told I need to do this and that this is just the way it is. Now I want to know _why_.”

Kratos raises an eyebrow with subtlety, but Lloyd does not take note of his change of expression. “Hmph. It is because Lord Yggdrasill wills it to be so.” 

The seraphim’s son no longer feels sadness, and instead, his face begins to burn with frustration. The pins and needles were back with full force. “Come on, you’re just not going to give me _any_ answers!?”

“Tomorrow, we will be giving you a new task. You will be bestowing the angelic power alone.” as he spins swiftly on his feet and moves toward the exit in silence, he says to Lloyd one final, simple sentence: “It would be wise not to ask further questions about the journey of regeneration.”

The door slides closed with a _thwump_ as Kratos walks away, and the pitter-patter noises of his shoes against the ground can be heard once more. It echoes in Lloyd’s head, a ringing pounding through his ears all the while. “ _Guh_!” he grunts, slamming his fist against the wall hard enough that pain shoots through his hand instantly.

The seething stops and instead, he exhales the last of his anger, breathing out the words “What the hell is going on?”


	2. A Rose Dies in Eden

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m glossing over things that are still in the game or fight scenes because if you’re reading this, We’ve All Played The Game (tm) so you’ll have to cut me some slack if the flow is a little off.
> 
> Edit: To celebrate 1000 views i'm re-reading this fic and livetweeting a thread for each chapter with brags, regrets, and lots of fun trivia. You can find a link to the thread in the end notes.

_ "One must live this life with all the strength one’s flesh can give." _

_ \- Anna de Noailles _

//

“Zelos! Wake up!”

The chosen rolls over, grumbling as the southwestern continent’s brittle grass crunches beneath him. Sheena groans, her voice cracking in tune with the ground below. “Wake  _ up  _ , you stupid chosen!”

After Zelos refuses to budge once more, the summoner resorts to desperate measures by flinging one of her cards in his direction so fast, it slaps him directly across the face with an audible ‘ _ smack!’. _

Zelos’ cheek stings like pins and needles over the area of impact, causing him to rouse at last; that was certainly a wake-up call, if he’d ever had one. “ _ Owwww,  _ ” he whines as he sits up at a snail’s pace, gently rubbing his eyes and tossing Sheena’s card back in her general direction. “What was that for?” 

A sigh escapes Sheena’s mouth, followed by a twitching frown in exasperation. “It’s almost noon, I’ve been trying to wake you up for the last _ twenty minutes  _ .” Her voice breaks at the end of her sentence, and it becomes clear that there was more to her annoyance than Zelos oversleeping.

The mid-day sun beams down on the chosen’s group, and Zelos crosses his legs before brushing away the dirt speckled across his bare arms. Regal subsequently readjusts his own posture before glancing at the redhead directly across from him. 

“Our next seal is the Temple of Lightning. How do you propose we approach this task, chosen one?”

Zelos then stretches, reaching upwards and letting out a yawn. “Well, I guess we just head to the next seal. All in favour?”

While Regal nods, Sheena becomes silent and rends her vision at the wilted grass below. “I-- I’d like to stop by Mizuho first.” 

It didn’t take much observation to notice she was trying to put on a strong face, but the sudden look of fear in her eyes showed a kind of vulnerability that even she couldn’t hide. “I thought I was ready to face this, but I’m not. I need some time.”

Zelos perks up, forever making light of any situation to keep them becoming too  _ sentimental _ . He felt discomfort with his own feelings, much less anyone else's. “Whatever the cutie says. We’re going to Mizuho!” He holds back another yawn, thinking himself sly and daft; of course, his two companions still notice.

Chuckles ensue all around, but not without being prefaced with an eye-roll from Sheena, who still wafted in and out of remorse. “Disregarding the degrading statement, how are you  _ still  _ tired? You slept longer than both of us combined.” Sometimes, Zelos knew exactly how to lighten the mood; others, he only knew how to aggravate and provoke. All of the above had come in handy at one point or another over the course of his life.

“What can I say? I need my beauty sleep!” his mouth creeps into a smile, and that smile certainly proved to be contagious. “Now let’s get going to Mizuho, shall we?”

The three heroes finally step out of the bushes while Tethe’alla’s dry, textured grass crackles under their feet like straw. Sheena takes the lead, snatching the map from Zelos and pointing them toward the hidden village. 

“ _ Argh!  _ ” Zelos cries in distress as his worst nightmare becomes a reality. “  _ There’s a  _ bug _ in my hair! _ ”

//

Sheena’s energy calms as they take a fragile moment from their journey to rest in her hometown; the climate around Mizuho is warmer and even drier than the southern continent, the stifling humidity in the Meltokio area noticeably easing the further northeast the party travels. The grass is greener, the plants more lush, and Zelos can’t help but be happy to sleep in a real bed again-- as one does after spending a night sleeping on turf that felt like hay.

Mizuho is a charming little village; it was Zelos’ first time visiting, and naturally, he had to hopelessly flirt with any woman in sight.  _ Once a sleaze, always a sleaze,  _ in his own mind. This certainly did not work out in his favour. 

_ “Hello, my darling little rosebud… I'm sure you  _ must  _ have heard of me by now…  _ ” 

_ “You know, I may be the Chosen of Regeneration, but your beauty could  _ truly  _ save this world…  _ ” 

“ _ You just have the  _ cutest  _ smile, hunny…  _ ” 

By now, Zelos was convinced that he could get anyone he wanted, any time he wanted them, and thus, names or faces never mattered. What mattered was the thrill of the chase and getting _exactly what he wanted_. Unfortunately for the chosen, none of the women in the village of ninjas were wooed by his words-- a phenomenon he surely was not used to. Maybe he didn’t want them anyways; there’s no such thing as heartbreak when there was no such thing as an investment in the first place.

“Alright, while we’re here, we should stock up on gels and equipment,” Sheena states in barren, desolate nature with hands placed firmly in her pockets. “I’m going for a walk, then I'm gonna make us some traditional Mizuho stew now that we’ve got the ingredients. I’m sure it’ll be better than the makeshift rice from last night.” She breaks from the group, her smile dissipating the further she walks away from Zelos and Regal.

“She’s probably still bummed about Volt,” the redhead is flippant in this statement, shrugging and letting one of his infamous one-sided smiles crawl across his face. “But she must have known she was gonna have to do it when she was sent along with us.”

Regal turns his head toward the ground, his aura the opposite of Zelos’: solemn and mournful. Clearly, this was the correct response to the situation at hand.

“The incident was relatively famous. Even I heard a word of it while I was living on the southeastern continent.” He raises his brows once more and glances towards the chosen. “You should speak with her. You seem to know her well; perhaps you could offer her some guidance.”

“Yeah, know her well as in  _ ‘know which buttons to push’  _ . I guess you’re right though. Let’s just hope I don’t make it worse.” Zelos steps away and jaunts through the village with a spring in his step  _ (arrogance or confidence? The two aren’t so different from each other) _ . His presence was a cross between that of a guard dog and bloodhound as he searched for his companion, on his way to make things either ten times better or infinitely worse. With eyes pressed for Sheena’s lilac coat, he darts through mazes of pathways and shacks. 

_ ‘She can’t be  _ that  _ hard to find.’  _

Sure enough, as soon as the thought crosses his mind, he stumbles upon none other than his summoner companion sitting with her back pressed against a moss-speckled well. The scene would be picturesque if not for her sombre eyes and aura that weeped of sadness.

“Yo, Sheena!” Zelos waves his arms in the air in an attempt to grab her attention. Sure enough, it works, as most of his tactics generally do; after all, charisma is objectively the chosen’s best quality. Whether those tactics went over well was less important than the fact that they went over at all.

Conversely, her eyes drip with resentment as she glares back at him; clearly, this case was the latter. “What do you want?”

“Oh, y’know. Just wanna chat. You up for that?” He smiles wide, not giving a single thought to the daggers shooting from her eyes. 

A quick, breathy sigh. “Wow. I thought you were just coming to piss me off. Never thought I’d hear you say something like  _ that  _ .” She pauses, easing her stiff, rigid posture. “So, sure, I guess.”

Zelos takes a seat on the grass across from her with a _ thump  _ as he hits the ground. “Y’know. Volt. You’ve gotta make that pact. There’s no way around it.”

He stares at her with abstracted eyes, trying not to look too closely, but not too far, either. Such was the perfect allegory for their entire relationship, and all of his relationships as a whole: keeping each other at arm’s length, never to allow each other closer. A practice he adopted even for his oldest friend, it seemed.

Gently, Sheena traces her fingers down her cheek, gazing directly at the ground. Her energy is sorrow-filled like that of wilted roses, as one naturally becomes when faced with their greatest trauma. 

“I know. I know, I really do. I just don’t know if I can.”

“Well, what was the problem last time? You aced the pact with Gnome, so at least this time, it’s not gonna be like you’ve never done this before.”

“I couldn’t understand him!” a soft, breathy whimper leaves her mouth. “I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know what he was saying, and then he went berserk and killed everyone. And it’s all my fault.”

Zelos frowns. “I really doubt that it’s all your fault. I’m sure there must be  _ somebody  _ out there who can understand what he says.” A light clicks on in Zelos’ head-- something that happened often, yet was seldom spoken. Smarter than anyone will give him credit for with such a foolish mask painted on his face. “What if we ask the chief if he knows any scholars who could help us out? I mean, doesn’t Mizuho have connections pretty much  _ everywhere?  _ ”

“Wow. You’ve actually got a good idea in your head for once, Zelos.” Sheena’s face begins to brighten once more, the edges of her mouth curling into a soft smile.

The chosen grins ear-to-ear. “What’s that? Did I just hear you-- _ gasp  _ \--compliment me!?” Hoisting himself onto his feet once more, Zelos smirks and drags slender fingers through his hair. “Could you say that again? I don’t think I heard you the first time.”

As quickly as it appeared, the smile on Sheena’s face fades again. “Don’t push it,” she says with trepidation like razorblades. “Let’s go talk to Tiga. I’m sure he’ll help us. After all, we’re the chosen’s group and I’m an ambassador of Mizuho, which means he’s pretty much obligated to.”

“Well then, let’s go already, yeah!?” the two companions turn toward the chief’s house, expecting nothing, but hoping for something--  _ anything  _ .

//

Tiga is straight-faced and iron-eyed as the chosen’s group sit before him, each hero seated with their legs crossed and backs arched in respect. 

“I see. You are seeking assistance with the pact.”

“Yes, chief, can you help us? I just--” Sheena’s gaze drifts downward, and Tiga speaks before she can finish.

“Sheena, I understand. This will be a challenge for you. I would be happy to aid you through the use of our information network.”

The summoner perks up instantaneously. “Really!? You’ll help us!?”

Mizuho’s chief nods, staring directly into Sheena’s hazel eyes. “In Meltokio, you will find an elven scholar skilled in ancient languages, architecture, and history. She has been a tremendous help to Mizuho in preserving our lore. Thus, she may be able to assist in your journey, even if only to examine the seal and translate Volt’s speech in the lost dialect.”

Zelos’ arm immediately shoots upward at light speed, nearly cutting the air in half in its wake. “All in favour of going to Meltokio, raise your hand!” Sheena raises her arm, while Regal quickly realizes his shackles leave him unable to do the same. Instead, the prisoner simply speaks the words  _ “Yes, chosen.” _

“I wish you luck on the journey of regeneration, and you may return to use our facilities whenever you feel weary.” Tiga dismisses the party with a nod while all three stand and exit the chief’s residence. Now, they had some semblance of a plan-- one that resulted in a trip back to Meltokio, nonetheless. A mere two days into the journey, Zelos was beginning to miss the familiarity already.

Upon stepping back to the outside world, Sheena feels the muggy air brush against her skin, before stretching her arms above her head and yawning. 

“Now, who’s hungry?” she inquires, glancing between her two companions. “Let’s grab a room at the inn and stay here for the night. I did say I was going to make some Mizuho stew for you guys.”

“I wouldn’t mind that, especially since we have taken this detour. I’d like to experience the culture of this city while we’re here.” Regal’s logic is simple, and more than that, impossible to dispute. Zelos' stomach churns thinking about food, but he certainly couldn’t argue without drawing attention to himself. Instead, he thinks on his feet and deflects the question entirely.

“Wow, Mr. Prisoner, I had no idea you were a man of culture!” Every time he has to put on a fake smile, he begins to despise himself more and more. 

_ ‘It’s too bad I can’t just be up front about this, eh?’  _ his mind races as thoughts pour in and out, threatening to overflow entirely.  _ ‘That just wouldn’t be my style, would it?’ _

A husky voice snaps him out of his reverie as Regal chuckles. “Well, chosen one, I suppose there is a lot you don’t know about me.”

This statement caught Zelos’ attention, but before the redhead could pry, he was promptly interrupted by Sheena exclaiming  _ “Alright guys, stew’s ready!” _

“Sheesh, how did you make that so fast?” Zelos laughs while the sight of food simultaneously makes him feel sicker by the minute. As a result, as much as he wanted to be excited for the stew, his stomach churned in all the worst ways.

Sheena squints in Zelos’ direction and gives a clever smile. “It’s a trade secret that we pass down through generations.” She proceeds to pour the thickened stew into three sizable bowls, and with every spoonful, Zelos’ stomach sinks even further. The hearty smell of beef and spices radiates throughout the inn and intoxicates everyone in the area-- all except for one, naturally. For him, the churning was getting stronger.

“Here, stew.” Sheena passes a wooden bowl in his direction as Regal begins to down spoonful after spoonful. Sheena followed suit shortly after.

Leaning back, Zelos pushes the bowl away swiftly enough to draw attention to himself-- unfortunately, he pushes it a little _too_ hard, and now _all_ the attention has landed on him. As the bowl flies backwards toward Sheena, the stew _drip, drip, drips_ onto the floor. _Oops_. 

“Sorry. Not hungry.”

“You haven’t been eating, Zelos. What’s up?” Sheena was starting to catch on, and he was clearly going to have to start coming up with better excuses at this point.

A wide grin spreads across his face, one just as artificial as his half-hearted evasions. “Oh, hunny. I’m watching my weight, don’t you know?”

Sheena raises a single brow as Regal finishes the last of his stew. “So, are you not hungry, or are you watching your weight, then?” 

‘ _ Crap. She’s not buying it’. _

“Hey, I can be both! Does it really matter, though? After all, just because we know that we are not to be, that doesn’t mean I don’t want to be beautiful when I find Mrs. Right!” Deep down, Zelos knows he’s not going to be able to keep the act up forever; after all, when traveling in close quarters with two companions, there are few things that one can truly hide. 

Would it be more suspicious to conceal each meal vomited to the ground, or simply to not eat at all? Even just a day ago, Zelos would never have imagined such a question ringing through his mind. Now, it was all he could think about.

A thin line drawn of flames stretches between Zelos and Sheena, until Regal notices the suffocating tension in the room and dares to make a suggestion to remedy it. 

“If we're finished, then I believe it’s best we rest and continue our journey to Meltokio.”

“Great idea, Regal! After all, we shouldn’t stray from the journey too much, now should we?” Zelos shoots up out of his seat at the speed of light, making his way up the wobbly stairs of the inn as his allies clean up behind him. It was clear that this building did not get much use, but the party were lucky to stay the night somewhere with a roof and blankets, much less for free.

_ ‘I’ve never been so thankful for a mattress before…’  _ Zelos reflects in the dead of night as he drifts into peaceful, dreamlike slumber. He does not think to appreciate this while he can; after all, why  _ would  _ he? Every human being sleeps.

//

While the chosen’s group draws closer to Meltokio, the dry climate of the north begins to subside as the humidity of the southern continent creeps back into their senses. When gone for so long, even if only a few days, coming back begins to feel like drowning. 

“It feels like we’ve been walking for _weeks_!” Zelos whines in gross displeasure. 

“Chosen, it has only been less than a day.” Regal’s tone is sharp and lacks sympathy; however, to Zelos, who was used to only the finest transportation, walking across continents felt like nothing short of _ torture _ . 

Sheena sighs. “We get it. You don’t like walking. We don’t really have much other choice right now.”

“Why must you be so mean to me, Sheena!?”

“You’re the chosen. This is your trial. You’re just going to have to deal with it.” Sheena crosses her arms as she continues across the sandy pathway.

Zelos pouts, playfully pretending to wipe a tear from his eye. “Hunny, you’re gonna make me  _ cry!  _ ”

If Sheena could be paid in Gald for every time she let out an exasperated sigh, she could afford to live a life of luxury. “Oh Goddess, this is gonna be a  _ long  _ journey…”

//

Meltokio never looked so good to Zelos before, or his two companions, for that matter. Its many stone streets were familiar to our fateful protagonist who knew them inside and out; nothing short of a welcome change. Zelos did not normally enjoy change, but this new development was one he invited with open arms. At least Meltokio is familiar, if nothing else.

“Say, where exactly are we going to meet this elf? I don’t think the chief ever actually told us this  _ very  _ important detail.” Zelos is fatigued as a thin weariness eases through his veins, but he tries ever-so-hard to push that feeling back down; after all, vulnerability means  _ weakness  _ , and weakness is whatever the hell lay under that mask he wore like a second skin.

Sheena places her hands firmly against her hips. “I guess all we can do is ask around.”

Zelos, of course, knowing Meltokio like the back of his hand, took Sheena and Regal on what could have essentially been a tour of the city under different circumstances. Anywhere and everywhere he knew, they followed, only to be met with glances of confusion and perplexed faces.

“Hmm. Nobody seems to know anything about an elven scholar, at least not in my parts of the city.”

“Well, there’s one part of the city we haven’t checked out,” Sheena replies. “Have you even  _ been  _ to the slums before?”

Zelos grimaces. “Of course not! Why would I go to the slums? I’m high society, after all!”

“Well, I guess you don’t know Meltokio as well as you think you do, then.” 

A slender hand gestures toward the poorest district of the city; the beautiful, white cobblestone path that spreads across the upper class stops abruptly as soon as it hits the outskirts of Tethe’alla’s metropolis, and the contrast is stark in more ways than one. Among other things, much unlike  _ high society  _ , walking through the slums is a bizarre experience for the chosen, as everyone who passes stares at him with a gaze that lacks the adoration he was so accustomed to.

“Hey!” Sheena exclaims as she approaches a couple who don tattered clothes and friendly smiles. “Excuse me, we were wondering if you knew where we could find an elven scholar. We’ve been told they’re somewhere in this city.”

The friendly smiles of both parties fade at an alarming rate, instead turning to expressions of mistrust. “That depends on who’s asking.”

“We’re the chosen’s group on the journey of world regeneration. We need her help to make a pact with one of the summon spirits. She may be the only one who can help us,” The summoner begins to plead now and her thoughts ruminate. ‘ _ I can’t handle Volt on my own. I can’t do this. I can’t do this,’  _ s o she thought, and so she believed.

The doubts that the couple had began to dissipate, but not without a dose of skepticism; one had to err on the side of caution when disclosing the location of someone who operates underground, after all. The crystal placed gently on Zelos' neck, however, was all the proof they needed.

“Keep walking this same direction, then turn to the left, then the left again. There will be a back door to the house you find there. In that basement, you’ll find her. Good luck.”

“Thank you,” Sheena breathes a substantial sigh of relief, and Regal echoes the gratitude. The summoner glares at Zelos and snaps, “and thank you from the  _ rest of us  _ , too.”

//

_ Knock-knock.  _ “Hello?”

No answer. Another  _ knock-knock-knock  _ , this time harder, and Sheena’s knuckles are now growing red and swollen from all the striking of the wood-grain door.

Right as the summoner prepares to strike once more, she hears the sound of latching and unlatching, followed by clicking and turning. The door cracks enough to see a single blue eye staring back at the party, and a young boy’s voice asks “Who are you, and what do you want?”

“We’re the chosen’s group, and we’re seeking the assistance of the elven scholar we were told lives here,” there was so much secrecy surrounding this elf that Sheena was beginning to get suspicious.

The blue eye squints, the rest of the boy’s face invisible in darkness. “What do you need them for, exactly?”

“A pact with a summon spirit. I’m a summoner and Volt... I can’t understand him. We need someone to help translate, or we won’t be able to regenerate the world.” Anxiety is shooting through her system, just like lightning; how fitting.

“Hmm. I’ll take you inside then, but leave your weapons at the entrance.” 

He shuts the door and the three heroes look at each other in confusion. A bold request, coming from someone so frail. Within seconds, a metallic unlatching noise is heard before the door opens in full, revealing a youthful boy with shaggy silver hair, clad entirely in blue to match his glacial eyes. Now that his face was illuminated, both his piercing eyes were visible, and Zelos was convinced this kid could stare directly into his soul: a possibility that he certainly didn’t like.

The door shuts, and now the party observes the process of multiple rusted locks, latches, and chains being brought back to their original place. 

“I’m serious. Weapons at the door.”

Zelos rolls his eyes and begrudgingly places his trusty shining, silver longsword at the top of the stairs; “You gotta do what you gotta do, I guess.” Regal unequips his iron greaves, while Sheena takes out guardian among guardian, placing them wherever she can find space.

“Why such high security, exactly?” Zelos asks, analyzing everything around the room and trying to determine how he was about to die--he isn’t, of course, and that was clear, but one can’t be too careful when unarmed in a locked basement. If  _ that  _ isn’t vulnerable, he doesn’t know what is.

A glance is thrown toward Zelos in response, and it was nearly impossible to read. “Precautions.” 

Upon reaching the bottom of the stairs, everyone finds that the basement actually has a quaint, cozy vibe to it, one that spoke of comfort rather than malice. Zelos feels some apprehension wash away upon seeing the hand-knit blankets and fully stocked bookshelves filled with hardcover novels; even this seedy basement felt more like a home than his ice castle ever did. 

The young boy turns back to the chosen’s group, eyelids drawn to match the subtle frown on his face. “My name is Genis, by the way. My sister is the infamous one, but I was studying before too.”

Zelos crosses his arms and raises his eyebrow in unison. “What, are you not studying anymore?”

“No,” Genis snaps; the tone in his voice could easily freeze hell over. “I’ll go get my sister.”

When the child walks out of the room, Zelos turns to his teammates instead. There was certainly much to be apprehensive about, and seeing the face of one of their hosts had only alleviated a small fraction. “Anything about this feel a little weird to you?”

Sheena is quiet, but clearly on edge as tension reams throughout her system. Unfortunately for her, her emotions are contagious: the summoner’s anxieties are obvious to everyone around her, infecting others like a virus. Zelos could even feel the sparks of wayward discontent standing at the opposing end of the room, but he felt sick enough as is to allow it to consume him too. 

“This is our best shot at forming the pact with Volt,” she finally says, leaving Zelos’ question all but unanswered.

Time felt like it didn’t move between past and present at all when Genis stepped out with a woman who appeared to be both his spitting image and ten years his senior. “My sister, Raine. She’s the one you heard about, and I told her about you guys too. She knows all about summon spirits.”

“Alright, so we’ve got two elves who are brother and sister. That seems pretty normal. Why are you guys on lockdown?” A valid question, spoken into existence by none other than Zelos himself, but clearly wide-reaching throughout the room unspoken by polite companions.

The scholar frowns. “There are many who are interested in our knowledge and possess ulterior motives. We have plenty of reasons to operate underground.”

“So what, you’re like arms dealers, but underground knowledge dealers for the slums?” Zelos chuckles and turns to his companions. “Hey kids, you wanna buy some  _ knowledge  _ ?” his laughter intensifies while Regal and Sheena stay dead silent.

Genis crosses his arms and presses them directly across his chest. One more example of Zelos’ charisma working, but not always in his  favour . “We don’t  _ have  _ to help you, you know.”

“ _ Zelos!  _ ” Sheena stares rogue lightning directly into Zelos’ eyes. “Don’t screw this up for us! It could be our only chance!”

“We just want to avoid being stuck in a research lab when we could be using our smarts to help people who really need it, that’s all.” the young boy leans up against the wall behind him, resting his head on the concrete. “What do you think, sis?”

“You want to make a pact with Volt, is that right?” Raine speaks with prickles of poison in her voice. She certainly didn’t come across as friendly. “He speaks the ancient elven language. You will likely need a translator to accompany you, but the language is all but lost in this day and age.”

“But you speak it, right!? Or does _ anyone  _ speak it!?” Sheena’s voice booms with indignation throughout the cellar. She feels the fear in the pit of her stomach and addresses Raine anyways, even with a tremble in her voice.

Raine tilts her head backwards, ever-so-slightly squinting at the summoner; apprehensive, perhaps. “I can translate, yes. But it would likely be too risky for me to accompany you, much less both Genis and myself.”

“Please! We need help!” Sheena grits her teeth, fists balled at her sides. “You could come with us to study the temple or something! We’ll take you right back here when we’re done!”

Zelos smirks. “Don’t get too ahead of yourself, Sheena. Do you guys even know how to fight? The journey is dangerous, after all.”

“Not physically, no, but Genis and I are skilled mages.” Raine sighs, dropping her guard for the first time since the chosen’s group entered her home. “Though, I suppose if we’re choosing to help people in need, the least we can do is aid in the world regeneration. If you can promise to bring me back to Meltokio once you have released the seal, perhaps I could accompany you as a translator.”

“Raine! What are you saying!?” Genis says, smacking his small hand into the side of his face. “What am I supposed to do here by myself!? If you’re going, then  _ I'm  _ going, too.”

“Then I suppose it’s settled. Chosen’s group, we will meet you outside momentarily. Please be on your way.” Raine shoos them up the stairs, where all three companions don their equipment once more before struggling with the locks and latches-- much as anyone would.

“Raine,” Genis is solemn now, his voice soft with the strain of sadness. “What are we going to do if they find out about us?”

His sister becomes weary and quiet, clearly trying to keep her composure for the sake of her younger brother. How well it was working depended how well he could see the fear dancing in her eyes in the dim light. “Honestly, Genis, I don’t know. All we can do is figure it out if--and  _ when  _ \--we get there.”

//

The Grand Tethe’alla Bridge spreads vastly across the sea, its silhouette fading neatly into the horizon before the resting port at the other end could be seen. Thankfully for the chosen and his companions, they were not here to cross the foreboding arch this visit: instead, they were merely here to board the boats anchored and tied to the docks beside it.

“Can’t believe we have to take some second-rate boat to the temple. Last time I went out to sea, it was on one of those fancy cruise ships out by Altamira, and it was filled with nothing but beautiful women!” Zelos uses a gloved finger to draw a fake tear down his cheek. “I feel like such a peasant!”

At the bridge littered with exspheres, a simple, wooden ship waited for the party, tracked down and rented by none other than Regal himself. Certainly unusual for one who had spent the last few years in a cell. Such a petty boat looked hardly big enough to hold the entire group, much less carry the five of them across the sea. Despite Zelos’ petty whines, they should be thankful to cross the sea  _ at all _ in these trying times. A later chosen may not have been so lucky.

“This world is in decline, and in turn, magitechnology is starting to lose functionality. The idea of a cruise ship running at a time like this is laughable.” Raine states as they approach the port with a quickened pace. Sheena was growing more nervous by the minute, and the faster they were in and out, the better for all five of their companions.

“Anybody even know how to pilot one of these? Cause I sure don’t,” Genis’ voice is flippant and arrogant; even his mere existence seemed to drive Zelos to the point of insanity. Enough to make him wish they’d left the brat behind, at the very least.

Regal places a single foot forward, the sole of his shoe making a gentle tap as he lowers it to the dock. “I can.”

Zelos laughs. “Damn, first you’re a man of culture, now you know how to drive a boat? You’re not just any convict, are ya?”

_ ‘Hmph’  _ . A single corner of Regal’s mouth turns into that of a half-smile. “I suppose over the course of my life, I have simply acquired knowledge of many different trades.”

“Alright guys, let’s go. Let’s get it over with.” fear creeps back into Sheena’s nervous system like the ebb and flow of water turning frigid; the only way to move past her looming shadow was to melt the ice with red-hot lightning, and she knew it the same way each of her companions did.

Zelos gestures toward Regal, smiling ear-to-ear. “Aye aye, captain!”

_ ‘Here it goes,’  _ Raine’s thoughts wander in silence.  _ ‘I hate the sea…’ _

//

The old-fashioned wooden ship carries our heroes across the ocean before concluding its journey at the Temple of Lightning’s port; the boards beneath their feet each squeak as the chosen’s companions step from the docks to the stone path that Sheena was all-too familiar with, concluding in a brief, reflective pause.

“It’s been so many years, but I still remember it like it was yesterday,” she mourns ghosts of her past before concluding with a sharp exhale. “I know I need to face it, but I don’t know if I can.”

Genis smirks, shaggy silver bangs grazing his forehead. “Well, ya kind of have to if we’re going to regenerate the world.”

_ “Genis!”  _ the boy’s sister grabs him by the arm, dragging him promptly to her side with a look glaring of disappointment. “I do apologize on behalf of my brother.”

The temple was much like the last, each hall twisting and turning in bizarre directions, while the most glaring difference was the abrupt flashes of lightning illuminating each room. Far more treacherous than the last, but not enough to be a bother; the only bother was the feeling in Zelos’ chest every time he breathed, and at this point, he was certain it wasn’t psychosomatic.

“You know where you’re going, right, Sheena? Because I’m just following you, you know.” 

Sheena nods. “Yeah, I can navigate us from here.”

While Sheena openly displays her nervousness to the group, Zelos instead masks his with laughter, flirtatious words, and fake smiles. After all, he had no idea what was going to happen to him this time the seal was released; he dreaded knowing that a repeat of what happened at the Temple of Earth was still a possibility. Maybe this is the seal he releases to make everything better.

_ Wouldn't that be nice? _

Zelos’ ears perk as he hears what he swears to be a  _ tap-tap-tap  _ of footsteps behind him. Clear enough to catch him off guard, but not enough that he’d allow it to happen again. Instead, he takes a quick look from side to side to check his surroundings before finally glancing over his shoulder: no-one is there and none of his companions appear alarmed, assuming they had even noticed the noise at all. 

_ ‘Huh. That was weird,’  _ he ruminates, but still  _ refuses  _ to believe that it’s all in his head.

Half an hour into traversing the ruin, Raine’s ecstasy about seeing the temple up close is evidenced by a dramatic change in her personality-- her cold demeanor washed away, instead replacing itself with that of a passionate maniac. 

“It’s beautiful!” she exclaims, and in this moment, there is nothing frigid about her. The entire party can feel her enthusiasm, maybe a little _too much_ , as her eyes begin to sparkle in ways they hadn’t seen before. “Oh,  _ marvelous  _ ! It’s just the way the books describe!”

_ Face-palm  _ . “  _ I  _ do apologize on behalf of my  _ sister  _ .” Genis sighs. “Come on, Raine, we can study the temple after we release the seal.”

A sharp flash of lightning illuminates the room once more and Zelos absolutely  _ swears  _ he can see a figure dip back into the shadows, crawling along the very edge of his vision. 

“Come on guys, let’s keep moving, eh?” Glancing over his shoulder yet again, he glares at the darkness behind him and frowns-- not a comical one this time, but one that spoke _‘whoever you are, fuck off’_ more than he planned to alarm his companions right now by making those words real.  _ ‘There’s someone following us. I just know it.’ _

As the five companions approach the altar at last, Sheena freezes as if engulfed by an endless ice spell; the way her body ceases to move a single step forward could have easily quantified such a theory. Her hands vibrate against her sides in tune with the thundering jolts of electricity that pulsate around them, and suddenly, she’s a child again, waiting to watch everyone die.

“I have to do this, don’t I?” The summoner’s bangs cover her eyes as she steps her right foot forward at least, dread resonating over what comes next. “Raine, get ready to translate for me.”

“Yes. I’m ready!” The scholar bows her head, and the remainder of the party adopt their combat stances in preparation for a rigorous battle. Nobody is left waiting long as Volt appears before them, the orb of sentient electricity abuzz in the air ahead. A gurgling noise can be heard far and wide in the room of the seal, and the sound rang like a series of electric shocks through the ears of our heroes, seeping even into the cracks and crevices of the temple.

Sheena keels over, barely managing to hold back a single tear from falling down her cheek. “Raine! I don’t know what he’s saying!”

“It’s okay, Sheena. Calm down. I’ll translate.” The murmur of energy continues. “Right now, he’s asking if we’re the chosen’s group.”

“Yo, that’s me. Let’s make that pact already, eh?” The chosen stands his ground as the summon spirit fires bursts of lightning around the room, one narrowly missing his head.  _ “Not the face!” _

Raine’s ears tune into the soft grumble once again before translating with great care. “He says we have to fight if we are to form the pact and use his power!” As she grips her staff so tightly her knuckles turn pale, she shouts  _ “Get ready!”  _ as loud as her elven lungs will allow.

The battle wages between the chosen’s group and the summon spirit as Genis’ spells collide with Volt’s static energy, igniting everything in his path with sparks and malevolent flickers of light. Between offensive attacks, Raine uses her healing artes to keep everyone stabilized, leaving Regal and Sheena to take the frontlines-- as such, Zelos took on the task of handling his silver blade with diction to deflect the streaming rays of light soaring throughout the room.

_ Swallow Kick-- Aqua Edge-- Life Seal-- _

Zelos grits his teeth as he diverts one ray of lightning after another-- and this time, he is forever grateful to have allies who can use magic at his disposal,  _ particularly _ for the healing spells, saving his own mana from depletion helping everyone else. The most self-sacrificing thing he’s ever done, save for this very journey, and why he didn't run away instead of embarking with one foot after another was beyond him at this point. All the while, he tries to keep close watch over the summoner who trembled even at her strongest; after all, somebody had to.

Volt turns directly to Sheena, his wide eyes turning to slits as he sends a thunderbolt flying immediately toward her. 

“Sheena!  _ Watch out!  _ ” 

The summoner stops in her tracks, paralyzed in fear. All she can do is watch as the stray violet bolt creeps closer to her. Just like last time, when everyone died and their _blood was on her hands_ , and she couldn’t _breathe_ , and it was  _ all her fault _ , and then it all turns black.

_ ‘Force Field!’ _

When Sheena comes to, she finds herself curled on the stone floor, hands firmly pressed against her ears. Above her stands Raine with her slender staff extended directly outward, shielding the terrified girl with her magic. 

Rubbing her eyes and slowly lifting herself back onto her feet, the summoner watches as Zelos deals the final blow directly between Volt’s eyes.  _ “The pact, Sheena!” _ he bellows as the summon spirit collapses to the ground.

“Volt!” she barks. “As a companion of the chosen of regeneration, who has been sent to save this declining world!” her voice grows louder with each word spoken, “I  _ demand your power!  _ ”

Volt nods as the mumbling of static fills the room once more, hardly more than a soft buzz that hummed and palpitated like a beating heart. 

“He says  _ ‘very well’  _ ,” Raine translates. “He also says that you prove a worthy opponent.”

The energy in the room shifts upon completion of the pact, comparable to a vast exhale after eleven years spent holding one’s breath. Tears are welling up in Sheena’s eyes, and for once, she allows them to drip down her face and pool on the ground; after so much time spent in her own shadow, now was hardly the time to hide vulnerability. The scholar takes note of this subtle catharsis, looking over to Sheena with sympathy and warmth weighing in her eyes. As she places her hand gently on Sheena’s shoulder, her blue eyes fill with both hospitality and sadness, until finally, on the count of _one Martel, two Martel, three Martel_ , violet light fills the room and the summon spirit fades away.

“Chosen, you must release the seal,” Regal speaks, his voice dry and brittle as he tends gently to his wounds and prepares for part two of Zelos’ fatal dance to happen at least-- and he was certainly more prepared than even the chosen was.

Instead, his face is deadpan without so much a hint of the uneasiness he feels within. The seal itself was stressful enough, but the fact that he could have sworn he was hearing the patter of footsteps against stone again made it even more suffocating. “Alright, let’s go.”

Zelos approaches the altar, extending his hand and allowing the room to fill with radiant light-- the same as last time, and the time before. An unfamiliar waltz in which each step brought him closer to the guillotine, and all he could do was delude himself into thinking that after all of this, he could just return home and _that_ was _that_. 

Translucent wings extend from Zelos’ back, illuminating the room with glitter that he could compare only to infectious spores; those wings were nothing more than a parasite to him, feeding off of his existence and ripping his humanity from his body from every turn. 

Light subsides with the click of his teeth against his tongue, and the brunette boy of Cruxis appears once more, this time without guidance from the angel who accompanied previously. Perhaps he was just for show, after all.

“Good job, Chosen.” Lloyd examines the seal room and takes note of new companions, but more than anything, he can’t keep his eyes off the chosen’s striking wings that were none other than the colour of sunset. “We of Cruxis will--”

_ “Stop right there, and prepare to die!” _

The party turns around to see a man with aquamarine hair and a billowing cape commanding a group of five soldiers, each taking orders obediently-- their weapons are drawn, but the commander’s eyes widen with disillusion upon examining the room. It was unclear whether they were prepared to kill, but at the very least, it seemed they were prepared to fight. The plan is already long foiled, though, as upon seeing Lloyd standing at the altar, the leader with strikingly blue hair scowls. 

“Dammit. We’re too late.”

Lloyd furrows his brows, puzzled by the scene taking place before his eyes. “Lord Yuan?”

Snickering, Zelos interjects with a quip of his own; he would hardly be Zelos Wilder if he chose not to take such an opportunity. “Little bit of internal strife you guys’ve got going on here? That’s juicy.”

“The emissary is here. We need to pull back.” Yuan turns on his heels and races out of the seal room, gesturing hastily for his soldiers to do the same. Whatever their aim was, they certainly hadn’t succeeded.

“What the hell was  _ that? _ ” Genis chuckles. “Has the rest of the journey been like this? Because that was kinda hilarious.”

“Ehh--” Lloyd scratches his head, running his fingers through thick, bushy hair.  _ ‘What the heck do I do now? If only Remiel were here…’  _ he ponders. “Uh, carrying on, we must bestow the seal upon the chosen to continue the world regeneration. Are you prepared, chosen one?”

The humorous tone from minutes before dissipates, and it doesn’t take long before butterflies made of lead begin to flutter mercilessly in Zelos’ stomach. “Sure thing.”

Rays descend upon Zelos’ body once more, his wings glittering in the momentary brilliance. More spores. More infection. More parasites. More cancer. As soon as the glow subsides, the envoy of Cruxis has disappeared.

Zelos’ stomach begins to churn, but this time, it’s his head that feels feverish and woozy. 

“Let’s set up camp. I gotta chill for a bit, you feel me?” His eyes begin to throb and twinge while the feeling of ten repeated jolts of caffeine proliferates throughout his nervous system. Disregarding his parasitic wings, what really felt like a contagion was whatever splitting, nauseating feeling had created a home in each of his nerve endings.

“Where? Those losers were just here trying to kill us, remember?” Genis is rolling his eyes now, Raine throwing a quick  _ “Genis! Manners!”  _ his way in response. Why Raine would want him to be polite to people trying to murder them was beyond him.

“Our best option at the moment appears to be taking the boat back to the mainland and setting up camp in a secluded forest, should we find one. Tomorrow, we must return to Meltokio to return Raine and Genis to their home, just as we promised.” Regal is solemn as ever, making his way slowly to the temple’s exit with the rest of his companions following in line.

“Hey! Wait for me!” Zelos dashes after them as he tries to ignore his head pounding and eyes burning like an unceasing flame. 

He takes note of the pain, sits with it, and tries to accept it, but he can’t. With every seal, his eyes lose a little bit of their shine and morale dwindles until it is hardly short of nonexistent. 

Is this really what becoming an angel feels like?

//

The five companions have reached land and now wander the area to find a forest or set of bushes to rest for the night. After all, the sun was going down, and if they don’t find somewhere to set up camp, they risk being attacked by monsters while already vulnerable-- or, of course, fall prey to the mysterious assassins who ambushed the temple.

“Thanks for driving that boat there and back for us, Regal. I don’t know what we’d do without you,” Sheena’s smile is warm, inviting, and above all else, intoxicating. “And thanks, guys, for being by my side while I made the pact. I wouldn’t have been able to do that without you, either.”

“Aww, hunny! Don’t mention it! It’s just  _ so  _ nice to see your beautiful smile again! Sulking just does  _ not _ suit you!” Zelos always finds himself to be even more over-the-top when his mind is elsewhere. At least that way, nobody notices, nobody questions anything, and everyone leaves him be.

The summoner scowls. “Thanks to everyone _ except _ for you.”

Another campfire is constructed once they find a quiet spot on the edge of a forest clearing, far enough away from the docks that they were unconcerned about the assassins from the temple, but secluded enough that monsters were not a worry either. Good enough to last the night, if nothing more.

“Alright guys, it’s pitch black out and I’m tired. I’m sleeping.” Sheena retreats into her makeshift bed crafted only of a few small sheets she’d brought from Mizuho; however sufficient, it still looked as comfortable as sleeping outside possibly could be in the first place.

Before long, Regal leaves to rest as well, allowing only for Zelos, Raine, and Genis to stay roused-- though, perhaps not Zelos for very much longer, as normally he’s asleep within minutes and at _ least  _ two people need to wake him up. At the  _ very least _ , he could never be paid enough Gald to be stuck as the night watch.

“Say, Raine, do you really want to go back to Meltokio?” Genis asks his older sister over the crackle of the campfire between them, merely white noise to fill the vacancies that fluttered between sentences. “I gotta say, it’s been a while since we slept outside, but this is the most fun I’ve had in a long time. I’m sick of being on the run.”

Raine takes a deep, pensive sigh, but her brother’s idea was certainly not out of the question, either. “Perhaps. Just remember that if we get caught, it’s all over for us. If that happens, we’ll likely be separated and put into labs for the rest of our lives.”

“Yeah, but if we succeed, maybe we can make the world a better place for people like us, too. To me, that’s worth it.”

Zelos rolls over, opening his eyes and glaring at the elven siblings. “Keep it down, would ya? I need my  _ beauty sleep  _ .”

“Sheesh. Fine, we’ll go to bed. Night, dummy.” Genis scowls while the elves make their resting spots, and within moments, everything becomes dead silent.

The chosen’s head throbs once more and the burning pain that seethes through his temples becomes increasingly difficult for him to ignore. Beyond that, it is becoming increasingly difficult for him to rest  _ at all. _

_ ‘Damn. I really can’t sleep tonight. That’s weird.’  _ He rolls over onto his back and simply lays in place, trying not to wake his companions.  _ ‘I’ll give it another hour, then I'll just give up, I guess.’ _

Five minutes drags on as if tied down to bricks of steel. Five minutes then turns into ten, and he shifts back onto his side to see if a change of position will help. It doesn’t, and ten minutes becomes half an hour. 

' _ Man. This sucks' .  _ Forty-five minutes. 

He’s not even the slightest bit tired as stimulation pumps through his veins, as if the seal had replaced it with his very blood. If anything, it was safe to say between the pounding in his head and the feeling of hypomanic  _ alertness  _ surging through in his brain, he’s overwhelmed. 

Fifty minutes. 

Eventually, Zelos makes the executive decision to just give up.  _ ‘What can I do until morning? The sun hasn’t even started to rise.’  _ He immediately shoots up in his spot, turning to the only bag he brought on the journey-- he had nearly missed the most important part of each night.

_ 'Actually, there’s one more thing I have to do.'  _ He grabs his trusty notepad before turning pen to paper.

_ Seles, _

_ Hope you’re not too worried about me. I promised I’d write again soon, didn’t I? _

_ Look, something really funny is happening to me, and I don’t really know what it is. _

_ I can’t explain it, but something about me is changing, _

_ and these Cruxis guys aren’t really what they seem. _

_ My enthusiasm is dwindling… not that I even wanted to go on this journey in the first place. _

_ But if it’s okay, I’d like to come visit you sometime soon. _

_ Talk to you later. _

_ \- Big Bro _

Exhaling sharply, Zelos reclaims his previous spot on the ground. His eyesight was somehow even clearer having released the seal, allowing him to see so much as the tiniest speckles in the night sky, like tiny grains on an ever-expanding canvas. Gazing up at the vividness above, shining stars dotted the night in colours of whites and creams; the vast celestial sphere swirled in different shades of blue, and Zelos can’t help but think that it was _ beautiful  _ .

Exhaling once more, he mulls  _ ‘Sleeping outside sucks, but I guess living in Meltokio never really gave me a chance to appreciate this, either…’  _

Zelos' brain was now in a state of hyperarousal, with sleep no longer even but a passing idea in his mind.  _ ‘I guess I’ll try counting stars then… One, two, three, four…’ _

//

Morning arrives in what jointly feels like ages and only mere moments at the very same time-- the same way any truly sleepless night did, but whatever this feeling pounding in his head was, it felt _different_. 

_ ‘Four-hundred fifty six, four-hundred fifty seven…’  _

The rest of his team begins to stir as the sky fades from shades of pink and orange to pale blues. Sheena slowly lifts herself up and immediately notices that Zelos is awake-- uncharacteristically so. 

“What are you doing? It’s not like you to wake up before noon.”

_ ‘Crap, what do I tell her?’  _ Zelos stops, pensive in ways he rarely showed. “I suppose I’m just excited to be back in Meltokio and sleeping in a real bed tonight!”

“Huh. Right.” Sheena claps her hands together and the quick  _ ‘smack’  _ rouses her sleeping teammates. “Alright everyone, time to get moving. We have to get back to Meltokio, don’t we?”

Raine, Genis, and Regal all sit up and begin to pack up the campsite. “Right. To Meltokio it is.”

Halfway through the journey, and here Zelos was, going home. The only thing that could be sweeter would be going home forever.

//

The chosen’s group is hardly back in the capitol city for much time at all before Zelos is swarmed by his hunnies once more-- almost as though he had never left in the first place. 

_ “Master Zelos! You’re back!”  _

_ “Oh, we missed you  _ so  _ much!”  _

_ “Those new scars on your arms are--gasp--  _ so sexy  _!”  _

_ “Why are you hanging out with these  _ peasants  _ , Master Zelos!?” _

_ ‘Great. The one time I don't want to be swarmed with beautiful women.'  _ With a wave of his hand, Zelos dons one of his signature plastic smiles with a pearly white grin and prepares to keep his defenses high.  _ 'Just gotta smile for the cameras…’  _

“Now, now, my darling hunnies. As much as I would just love to spend time with all of you, I’m afraid that I need to regenerate the world!”

_ ‘If only they knew what I’m becoming.’  _ The chosen's mind circles with self-doubt, and the only reasonable course of action is for him to dip out of the situation, because  _ pretending  _ felt nothing short of impossible right now, and pretending was the only thing he knew how to do.

Before Zelos can get much further away, all he hears is another frantic  _ ‘gasp’  _ in the direction of his companions before realizing they are no longer following him. 

“Hey! It’s Duke Bryant, the Noble!” one of the well-dressed women points toward Regal, nose turned upward in classic aristocrat fashion. “You used to be the president of Altamira!”

Another scowls, “He’s a  _ murderer! _ How did he get out of prison!?”

Regal grimaces. “I committed a crime, and for that, I must be punished.”

“Come on guys, let’s just go. Regal, you can repent  _ later  _ .” Genis grabs Regal by the arm and follows Zelos' lead through the streets of Meltokio. The elven teen had realized by now that Regal was the type who would have allowed himself to be berated until he dropped dead, so the least he could was swoop them away like a knight in ice-blue armor.

“Let’s chill at my place for a bit before we decide what to do next,” Zelos booms. “What do you think, guys?” The vote is unanimous, and the five companions continue on their way to Zelos’ glorious, grand, and  _ loveless  _ manor.

In stark contrast to Regal and Sheena’s most recent visit to his home, as he invites everyone through the billowing doors, Zelos makes a quick gesture to the spare rooms so his guests have space to drop their bags. Perhaps the journey had taken enough of a toll on him that he was starting to become  _ considerate,  _ of all things; how unlike him.

“So, you used to be the main man of Altamira, eh?” the redhead smirks. “I knew that I must have met you somewhere. You should know that I used to frequent that place.”

“I was a successful businessman until I became involved in the trading of exspheres. The one I love was equipped with one that turned her into a monster, and in turn, I was forced to take her life.” Regal’s words were somber, but honest. After all, they had known of his crime since the day the journey began; now that the details of his past had come to light, he had no reason to lie. “I turned myself in afterwards, and now I must do what I can to make up for that sin.” 

“Huh,” Sheena says. “You are so much less of a mystery to us now.”

“Do you still want me to travel with you now that you know the truth about who I am?” he asks with apprehension and shame, gazing directly at the chosen himself.

“Well, I mean, I already knew you were a murderer, if that’s what you were asking, and it sounds like you had reasons for it beyond being a cold-blooded killer. You’ve helped us out so far, so I’m cool with you tagging along.” Instead, Zelos’ attention turns to Raine and Genis. 

“Now, what about you guys? Don’t we have to drop you off at your dingy basement?”

The silver-haired boy immediately glares at him with eyes as cold as snow. Oh, how Zelos  _ hated  _ that look-- not just on Genis, but on anyone at all. The same one his Mother donned when she looked him in the eyes, and the same one he dreamed of every night since the very day she died.

“Actually,  _ chosen  _ , we had something we’d like to ask you.”

Zelos raises a brow and seconds of frigid silence pass before the Genis finally drops his guard. His voice is sheepish as he says “Well… If it’s okay, we’d like to continue to travel with you.”

Zelos glares back. “Sure thing. At least between the two of you,  _ one  _ of you is helpful.”

“Hey! Be nice to me, would you!?” the elven boy growls. Zelos cackles, running his fingers through bright red hair. Maybe one day he would find a way to  _ tolerate _ Genis, but that day was not today, and certainly not any time soon, either.

Raine places a single hand over her eye, inhaling sharply. She had little patience for idle banter, particularly after a lifetime raising her younger brother. “Well, hopefully in time, we can both be helpful, then. How about I make some food for us?”

_ ‘Argh, not food again… I’m still not hungry,’  _ Zelos broods in silence. “The kitchen’s over there. It’s all yours, babe.”

Genis only laughs. “Oh, you’re gonna regret this.” 

//

“Come on everyone, dinner’s ready!” Raine is clearly excited by her creation and presents it to the group with pride. “I want everyone to try some!”

_ ‘Well, I guess I shouldn’t hurt her feelings.’  _ Upon careful consideration, Zelos tries a bite of whatever the scholar had placed in front of him. By looks alone he could tell it was some sort of pasta with a cream sauce for sure, but hell if he could actually taste anything, and he knew damn well he wouldn’t be able to keep it down anyways.

Zelos’ apathy proves even more suspicious upon gauging the reactions of his teammates. “Raine, what the hell is this!?” Sheena exclaims, spitting into her napkin. “Is this spaghetti with spicy lemon sauce!?”

Raine smiles ear-to-ear. “I’m glad you asked! It’s spaghetti with lemon, cream, hot sauce, honey, and fish!”

Regal’s face was beginning to turn pale. “Well it is certainly… unique, Raine.”

“Well, at least Zelos likes my creation, right?” Raine says to the chosen, excitement dripping from her voice at the prospect of someone enjoying her cooking at last, following an eternity with her brother spent as designated chef. “Finally, someone understands my craft!”

“Yeah, it’s great.” Zelos continues shoveling down one bite after another while the other three of his companions stare at him with expressions ranging from shock to disgust. 

“Well, I’m gonna head upstairs for a bit to unwind. Y’all know where everything is. Later.” he gives a quick wave before excusing himself and rushing up the staircase as he prepares for another sleepless night. 

At the very least, he could use some solitude as the contents of his stomach were threatening to reject once more. Swallow down bile in vain, the same way he does to his pride with each seal unlocked.

//

Welgaia is cold and distant as ever, filled with nothing but emotionless angels, lifeless beings, and seraphim who were just as closed-off as everyone and everything else in the city. Clearly, Lloyd was anything but respected by the higher-ups here, even despite his heritage. In their eyes, it was necessary that his value be proven rather than something inherently deserved by virtue of his ancestry. Based on his journey so far, he certainly wasn’t doing a very good job of earning that worthiness.

The brunette was seated in his room staring into the mirror across from his bed, and all he can think about is how badly he  _ screwed up  _ the last seal, but beyond that, how  _ screwed up  _ this  _ whole  _ regeneration thing is in general. What does it mean to become an angel? Beyond that, why was lord Yuan trying to kill the chosen? Isn’t he supposed to be working with Cruxis?

The door swings open and Kratos steps in, looking sternly into Lloyd’s eyes. “Is something troubling you, Lloyd?”

“Well, I mean, it would be nice if you started knocking first,” Lloyd says hesitantly. “I guess as the journey goes on, I just… can’t shake the feeling that something’s not right. So much seems to be going on, and I’m just in the dark about all of it.”

Kratos lets out a  _ ‘Hmph’  _ before turning to leave. “I understand that you have concerns, and I can assure you that everything will be explained in due time. However, I’m not the one who will be doing so.”

“Wait!” Lloyd cries to his father, but it is far too late and in vain; by the time Lloyd stands up and extends his arms toward the door, Kratos is already gone. “Argh! I need  _ answers!  _ ”

//

Night fell fast and morning crawled faster, culminating with the chosen being surprised in the early daybreak with a quick, rhythmic knock on his door. Naturally, much like the night before, he had spent the night awake and in varying degrees of searing pain, never once to shut his burning eyes. At least now, he wasn’t dreaming of Mother every night, because he wasn’t dreaming at all. 

“Yo, come in.”

The door creaks open and Sheena steps into his room, her ninja training evidenced by the complete silence of her footsteps. “You didn’t sleep the night before, and judging by the fact that you’re still up, clearly you didn’t sleep last night either. Before, you were sleeping at least ten hours a night. Something’s up.”

_ ‘Damn, she's as observant as ever. ’  _ Zelos laughs off his feelings of panic. “Nah. I’m a big boy, don’t worry about me. Even if something were up, I’m the chosen, this kinda stuff is just par for the course.”

“Whatever, if you don’t want to talk to me, then don’t. I know I’ve already said it but you know I’m here if you need anything. You don’t have to suffer alone.” She’s serious now, really serious; if he wasn’t certain of this enough, then the sincerity brimming from her eyes could easily fill in the blanks. 

“By the way,” she starts speaking again before he has a chance to respond. “When you talked to me about Volt in Mizuho. Thank you for that. It’s been hard to process all that, and now it’s over. So, thanks.”

Zelos’ face is smug as he beams a lopsided grin. “Oh, no problem, my sweet, voluptuous hunny! Anytime you want to hear my beautiful voice, all you have to do is ask!”

Eye twitching, the summoner snaps back “This is why I can’t talk to you about anything, you idiot chosen!” Self-regulating system, rinse and repeat.

Sheena slams the door behind her, and it would not surprise Zelos if everyone else in his house heard the crashing sound too. Closing his eyes and falling backwards onto his plush sheets, Zelos didn’t have the heart to tell her that he couldn’t talk to her about this even if he wanted to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lol @ Regal’s backstory reveal being pretty much the same as the game. “I know you murdered someone, but you seem pretty cool, welcome aboard” how could I not keep that dynamic
> 
> [My commentary on this chapter: brags, regrets, and trivia!](https://twitter.com/flambydelrabies/status/1293334670055223297)


	3. No Youth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for discussion of suicide (not graphic) and violence/blood (a little more graphic). Zelos’ father’s death being a suicide is canon in the manga, I just took it and ran with it. This is where it really starts to deviate from the game. We also get our first one to one Zelos and Lloyd interaction in this chapter.
> 
> Commentary livetweet thread now in the end A/N.

_ "You’ll have to run your own show now, I thought, have your own emotions.   
_ _ I’m through acting it out, the blood got too real." _

_ \- Margaret Atwood _

//

_ “Dad! It’s the day of the oracle!” small shoes  _ tap, tap, tap  _ against the linoleum floor. _

_ A solemn face, eyes wide shut. “Zelos. I want you to take care of your sister for me.” _

_ Tears well up in childish eyes. “Why? You’re coming back, right?” _

_ Hand placed firmly on the young boy’s shoulder, Father simply states “One day, you’re going to go on a journey. Until then, I need you to be strong.” He begins to walk away. _

_ “Dad? Dad!? Daddy!?” While Father trudges off, all Zelos can hear is  _ tap, tap, tap  _. _

//

_ ‘Dammit.’  _ As he shakes his head back and forth with haste, all Zelos can think is  _ ‘Man, what a lousy memory’  _ before giving a one-sided smirk. 

_ ‘And look at me now, huh? Can’t eat, can’t sleep-- the old man would be  _ so  _ proud.’ _

“Chosen,” Raine’s voice echoing directly from his doorway interrupts his sorry contemplation. “We should be leaving. We must release the seal of darkness.”

“Hey, aren’t I supposed to be the one running the show here!? This is  _ my  _ journey!” he sticks his tongue out in Raine’s direction and the elf glowers back in reply-- an answer he should have expected from the start.

“I’m joining you as a scholar to aid in the journey, Zelos. It would be wise not to talk to me like that.”

Her eyes pierce straight through him and Zelos can only grimace at her cutting words, simply stating “Alright, alright. Let’s go, captain,” in his defeat. Defeat, failure, self-immolation-- sometimes he wonders if he already knew what his father felt like before he killed himself. At the very least, he could say that each seal had driven him further towards that feeling of desolation with each prayer and flicker of golden wings.

There he was, thinking of Father again; something unusual by Zelos’ standards, but he should have expected such the moment he was called to fill the chosen’s role of dancing the graceful,  _ holy _ steps to save the world.

They  _ definitely _ chose the wrong chosen.

Upon descending the staircase, Zelos found that his companions were already finished packing without him and ready to proceed toward the next temple. Perhaps if he could quit with getting consistently, continuously caught up in his own head, there would be fewer delays. Unfortunately for him, the further the journey of regeneration progresses, the more his mind begins to devour him whole.

//

The chosen and his hushed comrades arrive at the Temple of Darkness following hours of travel by foot; it had to be nearing mid-afternoon by the time they stepped within the confines of its bleak walls. The stifling silence is broken as Genis heaves a mid-size bag of belongings over his shoulder, landing in place with a soft  _ ‘thud’ _ . “Man, it’s really been a while since we’ve done this much traveling, huh, Raine?”

Before she could respond, the chosen himself simply  _ had  _ to make his booming voice heard. 

“Alright, ladies and gentlemen! Let's release the seal, huh!?” 

Sheena’s gaze drifts toward Zelos, and this time, she’s as impressed as she is annoyed. “Wow. You didn’t even complain once about all the walking this time. That’s a first.”

Truth be told, he was growing increasingly more nervous with each second that drew closer to approaching the altar, his stomach churning with silent resentment as if it were to turn inside-out at a moment’s notice. Instead, Zelos flips a strand of bright red hair over his shoulder and beams from ear-to-ear. 

“Well, hunny, we’re halfway through the journey of regeneration now, and what can I say? I’m just  _ real  _ excited to save the world!” 

"Guess all we can do is see how long that enthusiasm lasts today." Genis rolls his eyes, his already-exasperated stare landing on the chosen. 

The chosen’s quip was such an obvious lie, he was shocked that none of his companions called him out on it. It seemed that the greater his distress grew, the less obvious it was to the people around him. 

Zelos certainly didn’t know how to feel about that.

//

The Temple of Darkness resembled the blackest corners of Tethe’alla’s night sky, illuminated only by the blue candle Raine gripped tightly in her right hand. As she led the party through the temple’s labyrinth of stone platforms and stairs, Zelos chose instead to fall back into the shadows, trailing behind his companions in graceless fashion.

_ ‘I’m gonna “go on a journey one day”, huh, Dad? Yeah, so that you didn’t have to.’  _ The chosen smirks as dust flurries into the air with each step he takes-- one foot in front of the other.  _ ‘You knew you were just passing this off to me instead.’ _

The thought of Zelos’ father hardly crossed his mind in recent years, sparing the occasional dream where he appeared beside Mother’s lifeless eyes, loveless even in death. Otherwise, the former chosen was but a distant memory condemned to the most distant corners of his psyche. At seven years old, Zelos was hardly old enough to remember anything from that time period, but somehow, there were still bits and pieces littered amongst the emptiness as sharp as the dagger to the wrist. The combining effects of the angel transformation and Zelos’ growing uneasiness about the journey left twice as much time for his thoughts to drift into unsavoury places and only pressed that very same dagger to skin.

_ ‘It’s like every time I release a seal, something is taken away from me.’  _ Stopping in his tracks, his fists are clenched firmly at his sides as if holding his very life between them.  _ ‘Am I becoming an angel, or a corpse?’ _

“Chosen one, the seal room is approaching. Are you coming?” Regal’s voice brings Zelos’ introspection to a grinding halt as his companions turn their heads. Upon acknowledging his audience, his sly smirk turns to a forced, ditzy grin; caught in a state of vulnerability, he spins his fears into growing webs of lies instead.

“What, you guys couldn’t stand just a couple minutes not hearing my beautiful voice? You really do love me!”

“Whatever. We’re almost at the altar.” Sheena’s voice is emotionless as the party descends the temple’s twisting staircases, each footstep echoing into the unfeeling void surrounding them.

Ever the brat, Genis rolls his eyes in the darkness, this tiny, flippant gesture invisible to everyone around him. “Are we there yet? This is getting  _ annoying  _ .” Within seconds, a subtle misstep results in a tumble and his frail body bounces as it collides with each stair beneath it. If they could see it, it would certainly  _ look _ painful.

_ “Genis!”  _ Raine cries into the black gloom, trying not to lose her footing catching up to her brother who was completely out of sight by now. Finally out of mind, too, but only for Zelos. 

The moment he reaches the end, the elven boy seethes in pain as he lifts himself off the ground, scratching his head and recomposing.  _ “Ow…”  _ Before he can tend to the scrapes on his knee, Genis’ gaze lands on the first steady glow of natural light he’s spotted since entering the temple. 

“Guys! I think I found the seal!”

If he had, that would certainly be preferable to descending endless staircases for Goddess-knows how long, but this was something Zelos must see with his own two eyes first. As he saunters down the remainder of the stairs, the chosen pauses with flickering eyes before finally stopping at the temple’s foundation. 

“Huh, looks like you did. I thought we’d never find the bottom of this place. Guess your head really is good for somethin’, eh?”

Genis laughs in harsh, contrived fashion as he lifts himself back onto his feet. “You’re one to talk, oh-so-special Chosen One. You know how many times I’ve heard Sheena say the same kind of stuff to you already?” The young boy glares needles at Zelos, who returns the evil eye without a second’s notice.

“Quit it, both of you! Something’s coming!” Sheena exclaims as the light in the room only spreads further into all the puny crevices of the temple. Glowing, the altar’s silver iridescence radiates brighter and brighter with each suppressed breath the five heroes take.

Within moments, the air pressure in the crypt begins to rise as once-repressed mana disperses in every imaginable direction. The feeling had become intimately familiar by now, but  _ familiar _ still felt  _ suffocating _ \-- searing pain ensues as the chosen keels over, his hands shooting up to his ears. Nothing more than a futile attempt at remedying the splitting headache that surged down into his neck; clearly, the sharp increase in pressure was doing him no favours. 

When his eyes open once more, Zelos finds the summon spirit of Darkness standing behind the pedestal. 

_ "Chosen… fiiiight…"  _ Shadow's words are rapsy and carefully selected, with each syllable sending chills down the spines of the chosen and his companions. 

Thinking on her feet, Sheena spins her cards from the constraints of her pockets in preparation for the fight ahead. "Get ready, guys!" 

The remainder of the party draw their weapons and adopt their battle stances; by now, they had grown accustomed to the process the same way they had learned to live with the rupture of mana leaking from each seal, leaving Zelos with some degree of familiarity in chaos. Unfortunately, it was the cryptic outcome of each seal that left him nearly paralyzed with fear. 

The summon spirit nods in recognition that the time for combat has come, and with a swift wave of his arm, all of the light in the room rapidly begins to fade to black. The room grows darker, darker, and  _ darker _ as Shadow’s hand balls into a fist, until everything they can see is finally as black as a new moon in the night sky. 

_ “Begin…” _

“What!? I can’t see anything!” Zelos exclaims, waving his arms in front of him to no avail. “How are we supposed to fight like this!?”

By now, the fight had already begun, leaving no time for anything save for the clash of weapons and claws.  _ “Argh!”-- _ Sheena is unfortunate enough to find herself caught in one of Shadow’s offensive attacks, and sharp, malicious prickles dance across her skin as a Dark Sphere bursts in the pit of her chest. For a quick few, transient seconds, Sheena finds herself stunned, but in that same delicate timespan, the room brightens with a deep purple glow.

The pieces are now beginning to fall into place as Regal barks a foolproof strategy toward the party’s healer. “Raine-- are you able to use light magic!?”

“Yes. I’ve got it!” A brief series of seconds pass before the room is fully illuminated for only the bat of an eye.  _ ‘Photon!’ _

“Good call, Regal!” Genis exclaims, raising his kendama in Shadow’s direction in prompt fashion.  _ ‘Fireball!’  _ The room brightens once more, allowing Sheena, Zelos, and Regal the opportunity for a frontline charge.

_ Serpent Seal-- Swallow Kick-- Lightning Blade--  _ the battle rages on with the scrape of nails to skin as artes collide with tactical magic, all while the two mages keep the cellar lit between each blow.

“Guys, I think we’ve almost got h--” 

Zelos’ words are cut short in quick procession by the frigid grip of a hand around his neck. The grasp constricts with monstrous force as ice-cold hands strangle tighter, _ tighter _ \-- 

_ “Crumble.” _

As the light of another blinding Photon spell radiates throughout the pit of the temple, the chosen’s companions immediately become notified of the summon spirit’s whereabouts, and more importantly, Zelos’ predicament. His hands are vibrating now as he struggles to breathe, and immediately, Regal and Sheena begin rushing in his direction.

Finally, the chosen manages a grip on his sword that would allow him to fight back, so long as he did not lose consciousness first.

_ ‘Crap. Never imagined this was gonna be the way I was gonna go. Come through for me, guys.’ _

His vision pulsates in tune with his heartbeat, and with every flash of light, his companions become only distant blurs while gasping for air.

In a single flash of static electricity jolting throughout the room with blinding force, both Zelos and the summon spirit drop to the ground, their bodies hitting the stone floor with an abrupt  _ ‘thud’  _ . The moment he began gasping for air is the same moment he realized that Genis had both delivered the final blow and saved him at the very same time.

Light returns to the room while Shadow silently reclaims his place at the altar; his aura no longer spoke of the malice and morbidity it did a mere instant ago. Instead, he was a blank slate, ready to make the pact of prosperity and nothing more.

_ "Very well… paaaaaaaaact.” _

Raine immediately rushes to Zelos’ aid and the incantations begin, restoring his health with her magic so he may release the seal upon the pact’s completion. It doesn’t take much to return him back to his  _ (fake)  _ baseline, where he spoke  _ (artificial)  _ words of confidence  _ (how anybody could believe them was  _ beyond  _ him)  _ .

_ “C’mon, guys! Almost time for my super gorgeous and cool part, let’s hurry it up, huh!?”  _ His placations were nearly as worthless as he saw himself to be.

While the scholar uses her artes on the battered and bruised chosen, Sheena clutches cards between slender fingers and prepares for the first of the group’s two objectives: making the pact. 

“Shadow! To restore this declining world and complete the chosen’s journey, I ask that thy establish a pact with me!”

The summon spirit nods as his eyes turn to slits--  _ “Indeed… chosen… my power,”  _ he speaks in tongues with taut annunciation. Before long, his body begins to fade into nothingness in a flicker of obsidian darkness. 

Once Shadow’s aura disappears, the energy in the room converts to one of tension and anticipation while the emissary of Cruxis appears in the summon spirit’s place. As the blinding light subsides, none other than Lloyd Aurion stands at the temple’s altar once more, just as last time and the time before. Traverse the temple, find the altar, summon spirit, pact, seal, then the big variable X remains about what happens next, as it always does. Rinse and repeat until the world is saved. Three seals in, and Zelos had finally deciphered the code.

“Good work, Chosen. Cruxis recognizes your hard work. There is only one seal left after this, and then you’ll go to the Tower of Salvation and become a true angel.” Lloyd frowns in uncertainty, wondering if Lord Yuan would show up at this seal as well. At this point, everyone’s motives were unclear to Lloyd-- including his own.

“Ah, yes… then it’ll be time for the main event, am I right!?” Zelos keeps the mask in perfect place in spite of the burning sensation in his abdomen that screamed  _ don’t approach the altar. Don’t do it. Run. _

Lloyd looks the chosen in the eyes and  _ swears  _ he senses fear, sadness, something,  _ anything  _ behind the half-smile; within seconds, the emotion is gone as quickly as he had noticed it. Whatever this journey meant, clearly, chosens were the ones to bear it all, and if there truly was something hiding behind that sly smirk, it was a wonder he kept the mask aligned so  _ well _ .

Diligently, Lloyd shakes his head at the thought, turning his attention back to the task at hand. They didn’t know each other and were  _ far _ from friends, so whatever hid behind his smile shouldn’t concern Lloyd to begin with. Such was the nature of their roles and star-crossed destinies, after all.

“Zelos. Are you ready to release the seal?”

_ ‘Ha-ha. He actually remembers my name. Adorable.’  _ Zelos’ sarcasm is unmatched when he laughs an “Aye aye, Mr. Cruxis” upon extending his palm to the ceiling. The same as last time, and same as it ever was-- the party, the chosen, and the emissary himself all bear witness to the room igniting with stifled mana and Zelos’ wings fanning out from his back, glistening in the white brilliance. The glaring difference between this seal, the previous two, and every single time he’s spread his wings in between is that this time, it  _ doesn’t hurt _ .

As the light subsides, Zelos then realizes that while his back does not ache and bleed as his wings tear through his skin, it wasn’t just his wings that no longer burn; he felt no pain  _ at all  _ upon releasing this seal. On the contrary, all that he could feel was a gaping void of numbness where the Cruxis crystal lay, as if someone had injected him with a searing anaesthetic that seeped through his veins like sludge.

Bringing a hand to his chest, Zelos runs his fingers over the red gem and realizes that the skin surrounding it is numb to the touch as well. 

_ ‘What the hell!?’  _ His face contorts in horror as the feeling of nothingness ever-so-slowly creeps from a small coil in the centre of his chest into a malevolent spiral in his collarbones and stomach. The constant aches, burns, and feverish pains were beginning to alleviate for the first time since the journey began-- a feeling Zelos couldn’t even fathom appreciating, because a feeling of  _ nothing  _ took its place instead.

Lloyd furrows his brows and watches the chosen’s clear distress, unable to speak at the risk of breaking the narrow confines of his role as Cruxis’ envoy. After all, he had made enough mistakes already, and the last thing he wanted was to provoke Lord Yggdrasill’s anger. Of all knowledge presented before him with care, everything he knew and even everything he  _ didn’t _ , the one thing he understood with full certainty was that he had a job to do.

“The final seal is in the northernmost continent, Flanoir. Once it’s been released, your last stop will be the Tower of Salvation.”

The chosen is now doing everything he can to ignore the void seeping throughout his nervous system, veins, and everything in between, and instead, he puts on the biggest,  _ fakest _ , fabricated grin he can manage. 

“Yeah, yeah. See ya next time, I guess.” A momentary flash of light, and the emissary is gone. One more seal, then the journey is complete; one more seal until a fun, easy life at last. The more Zelos spoke it, the less he believed it.

Sheena takes a step toward Zelos, sensing a transformation in the room’s aura, perhaps even the unbecoming of Zelos  _ himself _ , and immediately succumbs to the feeling of unease. “Come on, everyone. There’s a House of Guidance nearby. We should rest.”

“A wise idea. Chosen, are you alright?” Regal glances at the redhead, whose trembling pupils spoke louder than the words of confidence from his mouth.

With a shrug of his shoulders, Zelos simply beams with all his might, “C’mon, guys… I’m the chosen! This is all just part of becoming an angel! Just put your faith in me, alright!?” 

“If you say so. Come on everyone, we should really be going.” Sheena catches Zelos’ solemn gaze directed at the stone floor, all while a hollow emptiness that only he knew silently weeps further and further throughout his body.

He had never been less _ ‘alright’  _ in his life, but hell if he had anything to say about it that didn’t make him feel like mixing a cocktail of Tethe’alla’s finest poisons.

//

“Five beds for one night will be 350 Gald.”

The chosen frowns as he wrings a hand through his hair. “What!? Come on!”

“I don’t think that’s such a bad price,” Sheena reaches into her bag with steady hands fumbling in and out of her pockets. “Unless you’d rather sleep outside again, of course. I just thought this may be a better opportunity for you to rest.”

A sly smile creeps across Genis’ face as his eyes dart from Sheena to the clerk standing in front of them. 

“Now, you don’t really plan on charging the  _ chosen’s group  _ to stay here for a night, do you?” The elf exuded a disturbing amount of charm for a mere teenage boy-- one that vastly differed from Zelos’ own, which was handed down to him over his father’s deathbed in tune with the title he despised. Instead, Genis’ was sly, biting, and _natural_. Turns out both kinds of charm are good for something.

“Chosen’s group!?” The clerk’s hand flies to cover her mouth. “I can’t possibly charge the chosen’s group! Please, help yourself to our beds.”

Zelos raises an eyebrow in the young boy’s direction while he tries as hard as he can to ignore the emptiness snaking down his limbs. As he turns his eyes back to the clerk, he simply recites the usual spiel-- one scripted from the silver tongue of a liar, before a flirtatious kiss is blown in her direction. 

_ “Thank you, hunny! I promise I’ll remember this once I save the world!” _

Once the party are out of earshot of the friendly, perhaps  _ naive _ clerk, Genis laughs. “And that, my friends, is how you get what you want.” As his lips curve upwards, the smirk on his face could kill.

//

Four of Tethe'alla’s heroes prepare for slumber while Zelos prepares for yet another sleepless night; he was certain by now that releasing this last seal would do anything but reverse it all, and so far, as emptiness snakes through his veins with each passing second, he had to be correct. If anything, it was only getting  _ worse _ .

Lips pursed, Raine throws the covers off of her bed and turns to her younger brother with eyes heavy as stone. “We should sleep now, Genis.”

“Fine, fine.” The elven boy saunters to the opposite end of the room, but not before glaring daggers at the chosen. 

“Hey. Zelos.” Genis barks with crisp articulation to catch the chosen’s attention, but quietly enough that his other companions do not stir.

Zelos, seated firmly on the corner of his bed, shoots his gaze toward the elf until the glare was returned as sharp as he could manage. Admittedly, that was not as sharp as truly,  _ deeply _ intended, but he was too preoccupied with his own personal body horror to give it much thought. 

“What do you want, brat?”

The elf’s head rests against the cracked, dusty wall behind him. “You know, back at the Temple of Darkness, when you were certain you were a goner... I didn’t have to save you. I was just gonna wait for somebody else to do it, but I did instead. You could really stand to be a little nicer to me, or at least  _ pretend  _ to be grateful.”

Frowning, Zelos’ insincere glance turns to one that spoke of surprise more than it did annoyance. Unfortunately for him, he had bigger things to worry about-- including the fact that he could only feel the tips of his fingers by now. 

“Sure thing, kid. Thanks… I guess.” Genis’ big eyes and shaggy hair made him a cute kid-- at least, if you could get past his sarcasm and mouthiness, of course, but Zelos could feel a darkness within that very same cute kid that had made him uncomfortable since the day they met. It was the feeling of passive, ice-cold anger he so despised, the same that fueled his mother until the day her body was splayed over the snow. Somehow, her eyes were even less frigid in death.

The elf turns out the light and rolls over before saying “Whatever. Go to sleep.” Little did he know how  _ impossible  _ that was.

On his own once more, Zelos must face the worst part of his insomnia-- another night alone with his emotions and nowhere to hide. Ever since he released the seal, the churning pit in his stomach had instead become replaced with a dull, snaking, empty void. The same way anaesthesia numbs to the touch, he found himself with a body full of gaping desolation rather than flesh, if he could even call it a body anymore.

If he could even call himself  _ human _ anymore.

He understood the feeling of fear in his mind alone as it dawned on him that he was losing the ability to experience physical sensation at all: warmth on his skin meant nothing, pain meant nothing, pleasure meant nothing. Emotions were now only thoughts that ruminate in circular spells throughout his brain, and while he had thoughts in spades, he never once thought he’d miss the feeling of splitting headaches, seething nausea, and ripples of anxiety.

_ ‘Wait.’  _ Zelos’ eyes are wide as he stares out the window opposite him and into the swirling night sky.  _ ‘The first seal, I couldn’t eat anymore. Then I couldn’t sleep anymore. Now I can’t feel anything.’ _

He gasps, gripping his mouth with gloved hands to conceal the noise.  _ ‘Every time I release a seal, I lose part of what makes me human.’  _

The chosen can’t feel his body shaking, but he can certainly see it as he struggles to contain himself. There are no possible words, no metaphors, and certainly nothing poetic he can say to describe the unique feeling of fear coupled with nothing at all. 

_ ‘What more could I possibly lose from here!?’  _

A sense of panic he had never felt before was vibrating throughout his system now. There is no way to describe it. Some things just don’t feel like anything else.

_ ‘I can’t do this. I can’t.’  _

Zelos fumbles with his pocket as he struggles to pull out his notepad; as it turns out, once one loses feeling throughout their entire body, their coordination suffers as well. Luckily for him, time meant nothing at this point either. He could be awake for days and only know because of the colour of the sky.

_ Seles, _

_ I h _

Without even a full sentence on paper, he finds himself at a loss for words. How does he say to the only family he has left that saving the world is killing him?

_ I have _

The House of Guidance is illuminated only by the light of the stars pouring through the window: _‘Gah,’_ he grunts in frustration and _horror_. Zelos stares at the paper until his vision begins to blur in the pale luminescence. At least that was a small reminder that he wasn’t a carcass yet. _‘What do I tell her?’_

_ I have to come visit you. _

Frowning, he crumples the piece of paper between two hands and tosses it over his shoulder. _ ‘Screw it.’  _ The projectile collides with the wall, giving a soft ‘tap’ as it knocks a splinter of chipped paint onto the wooden boards below. 

_ ‘Screw the journey, screw saving the world. I’m done playing this game.’ _

As he gets up to exit the room, great care is taken not to wake his companions who sleep soundly in the starlight.  _ ‘Sayonara, folks… guess I’m just another weak, idiot chosen, huh?’  _

Shutting the door in silence, the chosen waves into darkness as if to say goodbye to his friends, the journey of regeneration, and his life as he knew it all at once. In his mind, that was  _ exactly _ what he was doing.

Everyone has a breaking point, and those who think otherwise simply haven’t found it yet.

//

The humidity of the southern continent no longer serves as a bother to Zelos as he walks until the night sky turns into a million shades of sharp mandarin, pale magentas, and the haunting combination they create in unison. Under any other conditions, his stamina would be dwindling and his legs threatening to give out at any minute, but in this moment, all he could do was keep walking.

_ ‘I know where I'm going… I just don’t know what I'm going to do when I get there…’ _

By now, he reached the sea with no plan to cross it.  _ ‘Ah, crap.’  _

Seated on the dock that harboured no ships, the ocean wind flew through his hair and blew vibrant strands of red across his vision. He glares, pushing the stray locks back behind his ear; he could live with pink and orange, but red was his  _ least  _ favourite colour. Everything about it was a reminder of his worthless title and the  _ further  _ worthless people who gave it to him, and right now, that was the last thing he needed.

Gazing instead into the waters below, the twilight tones of the sky waltz over the ocean waves. The chosen can’t help but think about how stunning it is, even if just as a simple distraction from his overwhelming desire to leave everything behind. The way the orange tones glisten around his reflection and stretch outwards into the sea nearly look like--

_ ‘Wings.’  _ He stops with unmoving eyes glued to the mirror image reflected in front of him.  _ ‘Well, I have ‘em… I may as well use ‘em.’ _

Crystalline feathers burst from his back in a radiant, early-morning blaze of light that rivalled that of the sky. Thus far, his wings had only been out while releasing the seals with  _ very  _ few exceptions, and as such, he had no idea if they would even allow him to cross the ocean. 

_ ‘Not like I have much other choice at this point, either.’ _

The orange brilliance of the chosen’s wings blends into the glisten of the sky as his reflection stares back at him in the water. Zelos never used to like looking in the mirror, but now that he couldn’t hide the fear in his eyes, he liked it even less. Just another excuse to  _ never _ look back.

His gaze breaks, and with difficulty, he manages to lift himself off of the ground and into a steady levitation. Ever since losing the ability to feel, his movements have been based entirely around second-nature knowledge and he’d been getting by on muscle memory alone. That had worked to get him this far, but flying, however, was an entirely new sport.

After several futile attempts  _ (half of them resulting in tumbles to the docks below, of course) _ , he masters the art well enough that he soars over the water and into the sky. 

_ ‘Well, if I fall into the middle of the ocean, ‘s not like I'd be much worse off than I am now...’  _

He had never seen the lakeside scenery from this angle before and couldn’t help but notice the way that the rising sun sparkled over the heavy tides.  _ ‘Look at me, running away, just like my father did.’  _ A one-sided smirk creeps across his face. 

_ ‘Guess Tethe’alla’s chosen really are a bunch of cowards.’  _

If he could feel, his stomach would churn with apprehension as he abandons everything he thought he knew. Rays of sunlight now pour over the horizon as he soars through the sky, twilight now turning to early morning, and fear into doubt.

In any other circumstance, it would be beautiful.

//

Beams of morning light trickle through the House of Guidance as Sheena begins to stir, forever the early riser of the group and the one to rouse each of her companions without fail. As she awakens, letting her hair brush softly against the base of her neck, it doesn’t take more than a few serrated moments of repose for the summoner to recognize that something isn't right.

_ “Guys! Wake up!”  _ Sheena’s voice breaks as she bellows at her friends, panic binding every syllable into a frenzied maze; immediately, they begin to rouse. 

Regal carefully pulls himself out of bed, brushing a strand of azure hair from his face. "Sheena, is something wrong?" he asks, his aura calm and collected in spite of the sudden, alarming awakening.

"Yeah! Zelos is _ gone!  _ " Sure enough, a cursory look around the room showed that the chosen was nowhere in sight. On a journey that hinges on his presence, nothing could have been  _ more _ wrong than this.

Raine turns her head toward her younger brother, concern strewn across her face-- as it should be.  _ "Let's look outside",  _ the siblings nod before sprinting down the stairs with haste.

“It’s not like him to take off without a word…” Eyes dart around the room, looking for some kind of clue--  _ anything _ . “Regal, did you notice anything off yesterday? Anything that would lead to this?”

_ “Hmph.” _ the older man gazes to the window, observing Raine and Genis frantically searching the perimeter of the building. Still, he kept his composure for the sake of everyone else; someone had to be the pillar of strength among frantic companions. “I suppose the chosen was particularly quiet after he released the seal, which is unusual for him.”

Sheena’s nodding her head in agreement now, eternally thankful she wasn’t the only one to have noticed, either. “And I know for a fact he hasn’t been sleeping.” Her amber eyes scanned the room with great tenacity before finally falling on a crumpled piece of paper, clearly abandoned in plain sight. 

“Regal. Looks like we found our clue.” She raises an eyebrow before jolting across the room, retrieving the lone sheet and unraveling every fold.

_ Seles, _

_ I have to come visit you. _

Gasping, Sheena grips the paper with both hands so tightly that Regal is amazed it doesn’t rip in half. Her voice is stern, filled with emotions no-one could ever place as she turns to him and simply says “Go get Raine and Genis. I know exactly where he went.”

//

By the time Zelos arrives at the Abbey, a sigh of relief washes through his mind as his body collapses into the lush grass. Despite this, the comfort from the field below doesn’t stop him shaking uncontrollably upon continuous attempts to pick himself off of the ground-- he quickly discovers, much to his dismay, his body can’t keep up with each of his mind’s commands. The hollow emptiness that coursed through Zelos’ body may prevent him from experiencing the drawbacks of physical exhaustion, but alas, he was still a human being who had overexerted himself.

_ ‘Ah, whatever… not like I have anywhere to be.’  _ In the end, the chosen gives up fighting against his body’s limitations and instead allows himself to lie silently in the overgrown grass, his body strewn like a mannequin. At this point, he was hardly more than a sentient mannequin to begin with-- a thought that would send shivers down his spine, if he could feel them.

“Zelos…?”

The redhead jolts his head upward, squinting to decipher the source of the soft-spoken voice. 

“Seles?”

The younger of the Wilder siblings rushes across the field to help her brother onto his feet. 

“What are you doing here?” she asks him, her tone identical to a shiver down his spine  _ (if he could still feel those, of course) _ . Seles was clearly trying her hardest to hide the concern in her voice, but Zelos sees through her act instantly; after all, certain masks run in the family.

“Ah, y’know. Just need a place to stay for a bit. I’ll fill you in later.” That was the first lie, if you can call a glaring quarter-of-the-truth a lie. Zelos then releases his sister’s hand and begins brushing stray blades of grass out of his hair. He keeps it casual and forever aloof, knowing as clear as his very fate that it would do nothing to unnerve her the moment they see each other for the first time in longer than it _should_ have been.

Much like her brother saw through her facade, it doesn’t take long for Seles to pick up on the fact that there had to be much more happening than he was letting on. It had certainly been a number of years since she had seen her brother last-- two, perhaps three now; not much had changed about his appearance since then, but the golden wings in his wake were  _ definitely  _ new.

An awkward pause ensues. “You have wings,” she finally says, eyeing the gleaming shards shooting from his back. Admittedly, they were magnificent to the eye, save for the very eyes of the person who possessed them in the first place, but they were also incredibly difficult to miss.

Zelos was alarmed by her observation; he had completely forgotten that he had them out now that he could no longer feel their presence. Immediately, he retracts them into his back once more-- an action born partially out of irritation, partially out of shame. 

“Yeah. The chicks really dig ‘em.” That was the second lie.

His sister frowns; he certainly hadn’t changed much. “Whatever. Let’s go inside.”

The Abbey was not a glamorous place to stay, much less one of  _ luxury _ , but it was preferable to roaming outside, and to Zelos, that was enough right now. Not only were its walls safe from monsters, but it was secluded enough that he was confident he would get some  _ peace _ and  _ quiet _ until his next steps were clear.

Seles takes a seat at the small table in the corner of her room, her chair squeaking against the stone flooring as she pushes it closer to the wall. “Now, really, Zelos. Why did you come here?”

He frowns and leans against the wall jutting behind him. “I’m assuming you’ve been getting my letters.”

“Yeah, and? I know it hasn’t been a great time or anything, but you came alone and out of the blue. That’s weird and you know it.” Her stare nearly aches from across the room, with eyelids drooped and a frown strewn across her face to match. The thought was beginning to dawn on him that  _ maybe _ , this visit wasn’t such a good idea, but with nowhere else to run, it was still the best option he had.

Zelos avoids eye contact before simply stating “If I told ya, you’d cry. You’re just gonna have to trust me on this one when I say I can’t do the journey anymore.”

“This is my bloodline too. I feel like I deserve to know, but it’s not like I can make you talk to me or anything.” There’s an aggressive glare shooting directly at him now, not that he can even  _ remotely  _ blame her. 

“So, if you’re done with the journey, what’s next, then,  _ chosen one  _ ?” The disdain dripping from her words was so thick, Zelos swore he was swimming in it.

A quick shrug. “Can’t say I know yet, but I also can’t say I can live like this.”

The younger Wilder raises a single eyebrow. “Alright then. I made you some tea, by the way. It’s all yours whenever you want it.” She gestures to a small, white mug placed neatly on the table in front of her. 

_ ‘Great. This again.’  _ There was certainly an obligation of sorts that he knew he had to fulfill, and as such, he reached for the cup, trying his hardest to be polite. He was the guest here, after all-- how could he refuse?

As soon as he has the mug grasped as firmly as he could manage, Zelos’ muscle memory falters and the mug crashes to the floor. Before he can process the stumble, he ends up sprawled on the stone floor with scraped elbows and scalding tea all over himself. 

“Ah, shit.”

Seles is rushing to his side at lightning speed, gasping upon noticing the burns on his skin-- as well as taking ever-meticulous note that her brother was generally graceful, agile, and much more well-composed than this. 

“How did you not even  _ flinch  _ at these burns?”

Zelos’ excuses and dodging of questions will only get him so far with the one person who can see through his act better than anyone else. Grinning, his smile is indistinguishable between sarcasm and sincere truthfulness as he declares “Just part of being the  _ chosen _ , I guess.”

Contrarily, Seles’ frown only deepens. “I’m going to find you some clean clothes, and then you’re actually going to talk to me.”

“Whatever you say, little sister.” The tension between the two siblings was as strong and unchanging as ever.

Shortly after she leaves, Seles returns as quickly as an animal caught in a trap with dry clothes and clean sheets for the night. “No, really. I want you to tell me why you’ve abandoned the journey.”

In response, he smirks and candidly states “Heh. There were a lotta things I took for granted, things you’d take for granted too. I’m sure you’d do the same, that’s the Wilder gene in us.”

“Enough with the cryptic garbage.” Seles’ glare returns with a discontent comparable to blazing fire hiding within a young girl.

“Seles, what is it that makes someone human, exactly? Then when does someone stop being human? Honest question.” 

She stops, still unimpressed, with a further demeanor to her that Zelos can’t place. “I don’t know. I guess I’ve never had to think about it before.” 

Her older brother is trailing his fingers across the burn marks and other tiny scars that litter his bare arms now, and all his sister can think about is the fact that he does not recoil from the sensation of grazing fingers across a fresh wound. 

After he doesn’t respond, she asks him “How about you  _ tell me _ , then, Zelos?” in blunt, Wilder fashion.

“Every single seal, it’s like I’ve lost something that makes me a human being. Can’t eat. Can’t sleep. Can’t even feel anything.” He crosses his legs, staring up at the white ceiling. 

“I go on the journey, I release the seals, the mana flow is reversed, the world is saved until it isn’t anymore. What happens at the end for me, though? Because at this point I don’t want to find out.”

“So that’s the world regeneration, huh?” Seles’ red-hot frustration begins to simmer, but not enough to give the topic of conversation justice and she knew it. Instead, she rises, and her fingernails graze across the tabletop with every move she makes.

“I’m going to get a cup of tea for myself. You can wait here.” 

Their eyes lock for mere seconds before she shuts the door with unlikely grace. Those few muted seconds of eye contact were hardly enough to gauge what must have been pacing through her mind, but he could certainly fill in the blanks with what he already knew to be true.

He’s alone again now, at least as much as he ever is when living with a mind that threatens to feast on him whole.

_ ‘Guess she still hates me, huh?’  _ An airy laugh escapes Zelos’ mouth. She had wanted to be the chosen, and he wanted her to be as well, at least before he knew what that title really entailed. Instead, he now only wished that his father had swallowed his pride and saved the world instead of taking his life, because that would have saved the Wilder siblings from this ludicrous back-and-forth order of envy that plagued their relationship.

By the time she returns, he doesn’t know how long it’s been, and at this point, it doesn’t matter. He couldn’t tell you what day it was anymore, either. After all, time ceases to exist when you stop sleeping. “So, you had time to gather your thoughts about my tale of misery and woe, then?”

The energy in the room has softened as Seles takes a seat next to her solemn brother. At the _ very _ least, she’s certainly not angry anymore.

“I guess nobody really knew what the world regeneration meant. Not even me. Not even you. I wonder if Dad even did.”

“Who knows. I’m pretty selfish, aren’t I-- running away like this?” Zelos exhales a delicate chuckle, barely audible even to himself. Any traces of sarcasm are gone by this point. “Selfish, just like Dad.”

“I-- I didn’t realize the severity of it all. I know we haven’t talked as much these last few years, but I really do think you’re strong, Zelos. I think about you every day, especially since the day of the oracle.”

The older Wilder frowns, crossing his arms against his chest. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to have to talk to you about this. Put it off and deflected as much as I could. I know you always wanted to be the chosen, and I never wanted any of it. Only wanted to throw away the only thing that could have been all yours.”

“Wait, what the  _ hell  _ are you talking about!?” The fire in Seles’ energy ignites once more, her face mere inches from her brother’s while her fingernails dug into her palms. “That’s why things are the way they are?  _ That’s _ why you’ve hardly talked to me in years!? I  _ never  _ wanted to be the chosen!”

“Ha-ha. And here I was, thinking you resented me for something that’s killing me.”

“You idiot.” Seles breathes a deep sigh outwards. “I never resented you. I just-- I thought you resented  _ me  _ . My mom killed yours, and with Dad dying… I thought that you blamed me for that.”

“Nah, that wasn’t you.” He leans back, bright red coils of burns visible as he drops his arm to the bed. “The only thing I blame is the chosen system, ‘cause clearly that’s the real enemy here. The reason our family got so messed up was because of this stupid title and the even more stupid semantics behind it.” The only thing more idiotic than the chosen himself was the title that plagued his bloodline to begin with.

Her temperament eases upon listening to her brother speak words she’d never once expected to hear. “I hope you know I didn’t want to be the chosen, not even once. I guess I’m just… a little jealous of the freedom you get, while I'm stuck here in the Abbey.”

“Well, what can I say? I’m jealous that you can eat, sleep, and feel, and that you don’t have to go on this god-awful journey.” He chuckles once more, head bobbing with each nervous laugh. “Guess we’re both prisoners of our own, eh?”

Seles joins her brother, adopting a smirk to match his. “Ha. I guess in a way, you’re right. Can I just say something, Zelos?” 

“Sure thing, little sis.” 

The young girl stands up to take the empty mug and dirty clothes downstairs, but before she leaves, she tosses a quick glance of warmth in his direction. “I’m glad you came here... big brother.”

She’s happy now, and so is Zelos-- so happy he can nearly feel it, like phantom sensations bubbling in his chest. It certainly doesn’t compare to the real thing, but he relishes it anyways, because for now, much like his sister’s peaceful sentiment, it’s all that he has left.

As she descends the stairs, Seles leaves everything in her hands on the countertop, instead sitting down with a black pen and a lined piece of paper in her hand.

_ Hey guys! _

_ Don’t worry, Zelos is with me. He’s going to be taking a break from the journey, _

_ but I’m going to keep him safe no matter what. _

_ Thank you for everything you have done for him so far. I’ll let you know next time _

_ I have an update, just so that you can make sure he’s okay. _

_ \- Seles _

Sealing the envelope with a stamp of molten wax, she places the letter onto the open windowsill with great care and waits for it to be taken away.

//

The dull pang of loneliness was a feeling Lloyd Aurion was intimately familiar with, having spent most of his days engaging in either one of two repetitive tasks: rigorously training for combat, or staring up at his muted ceiling alone, just as he was now. His subordinate angels saw him only as  _ ‘son of Kratos’  _ , while the seraphim viewed him as  _ ‘footsoldier L012’  _ at best and a mere annoyance at worst-- as a result, he had never truly formed a connection with anyone he could consider a friend, and the feeling of isolation was commonplace in his day-to-day life.

As Lloyd extends his arm above his head, the exsphere on his hand twinkles in the room’s dull, artificial, yet somehow  _ comforting _ fluorescence. 

“What _ is  _ the difference between an exsphere and a Cruxis crystal, anyway?” He frowns, collapsing backwards onto his stiff and cold bed. “When I started using my exsphere, it didn’t look anything like what I’ve watched the chosen go through.”

Before long, a harsh knocking noise draws his attention to the door. He glances over, grumbling “Come in,” to the unlikely visitor.

The sliding door opens with a _ ‘whoosh’  _ to reveal Lord Yuan; upon their eyes locking, Lloyd was all but surprised, as Yuan always  _ respected his privacy  _ by knocking rather than barging in,  _ much unlike _ his father.

“Lloyd. Lord Yggdrasill has summoned you.” The seraphim’s arms are folded neatly across his chest, beckoning for Lloyd to join him. His demeanor was docile, an lynx in repose with claws retracted, but a gaze sharp enough to kill.

The brunette stands boldly and follows Yuan in silence through the seemingly endless halls weaving nimbly throughout Welgaia, ignoring the churning sensations tying knots through his stomach. Lloyd did not dare ask what it was that possessed him to attempt a massacre upon the chosen’s group, but the tension between the two men made it evident to the seraphim that the topic was still running circles through Lloyd’s mind.

As he furrows his brow, Lloyd decides that he can’t hold it in much longer. “Lord Yuan, can I ask--”

Yuan raises a hand, unceremoniously grinding his question to a halt before it could begin. “Shush. Our leader awaits. Show some respect.”

Upon reaching the centre of the City of Angels, dual magitech doors slide open to reveal Yggdrasill’s lair, where Kratos, Remiel, and the leader of Cruxis himself reside, waiting in silence for their guests. Lord Yggdrasill’s slender body sprawls across one of the chamber’s many couches; with his lengthy blonde hair, fuschia wings, and white bodysuit, his appearance was certainly not one that shrieked  _ ‘Cruxis overlord’ _ .

“Lord Yggdrasill, you wanted to see me?” Lloyd was hesitant, an understandable feeling in this case; everything about the commander was a mystery, including his motives--  _ especially  _ his motives. He was a true, cryptic puzzle, and that fact alone left Lloyd with no feeling but blood-curdling  _ fear _ .

Despite a subtle raise of a single brow, Yggdrasill shows no further emotion in his reply. “An  _ issue  _ with the journey of regeneration seems to have occurred. I would like you to remedy the situation.”

A gasp leaves Lloyd’s mouth as his heart begins beating faster and  _ faster _ .  _ ‘This is all my fault, isn’t it?’ _ A mission with stakes as high as these was going up in flames in record time, by Cruxis’ standards, at least.

_ “What happened!?” _

“We’ve received word that the chosen has strayed from the journey. I request that you bring him back to release the final seal.”

“My lord!” Remiel raises his voice before Lloyd could choose to accept this request. “Such a task cannot be left to this  _ child  _ alone. I ask that I retrieve the chosen in his stead.”

Lord Yggdrasill smirks, dismissing the angel with a wave of his hand. “Remiel, I would like  _ Lloyd  _ to undertake this task. Consider this an opportunity to prove your worth to me. Do you accept this responsibility, Lloyd Aurion?.”

“Y-yes, Lord Yggdrasill. I do.” 

His heart feels as though it is about to vibrate out of his chest at the mere thought of this monumental task.  _ ‘How the heck am I going to do this!?’ _

“If you are successful, perhaps we can speak of advancing your rank in this organization.” With a wave of his hand, Cruxis’ leader dismisses his audience who drift back into the winding hallways. 

While he nearly boils over with indignation surrounding all the uncertainty, secrecy, and sheer  _ insincerity  _ that was growing within Welgaia’s walls, Lloyd’s expression is callous even before he turns back to the seraphim. 

“Lord Yuan. I need to know something, and I think you know what I’m about to ask you,” he states, his tone stubborn as if an immovable object all on its own.

_ ‘Hmph.’  _ Yuan turns to walk away, expressionless, lifeless. “You want to know why I tried to kill the chosen.”

“Yeah. Does this mean you’re a traitor to Cruxis?” Lloyd’s inflection becomes increasingly more acidic with each syllable that leaves his mouth.

“Simply put, it would be better for everyone if the world regeneration were not completed.” Yuan begins pacing away to his chambers, but not before turning back to Lloyd for a blink of an eye. “You should at least  _ attempt  _ to do as you’re told, though. At least, if you don’t want to lose your head.” 

As the seraphim walks away, Lloyd chooses not to follow. Everything was far too complicated to even begin to ask questions by now. There were no straight answers, much less  _ any at all _ .

Mustering as much confidence as he can,  _ “Here goes nothing,”  _ he says to no-one other than his own anxious mind. Lloyd was the one to bring the world back on the path to prosperity, and the role he had been training all his life for had never felt more real than it did in this very moment. 

The role he was born to play-- nothing less than a foil to the chosen himself, and nothing more than two pawns in one big game.

//

_ ‘Five hundred and seventy-six, five hundred and seventy seven...’  _

Zelos’ exhale is as sharp as the sword at his side, his vision wandering out over the ocean and into the midnight darkness. The longer he stargazed, the less beautiful he found it; instead, it became more of a chore to keep him busy on these sleepless nights. By now, he had memorized the phases of the moon and could tell the time by the colour of the sky.

_ ‘Five hundred and seventy eight… five hundred and seventy n--’ _

Suddenly, he stops, and his hand drifts to the hilt of his blade. He couldn’t explain it, but his instincts were screaming at him that he wasn’t alone.

A hasty back-and-forth glance over his shoulder reveals no such presence. Glowering, he turns his eyes back to the dead of night. Not that it would matter much to him, anyway. If it were monsters, so be it.

_ ‘Five hundred and eighty… five hundred and eighty one...’ _

The soft rustling of grass in the distance could no longer be ignored, but Zelos did not dare look behind him now. All that he wanted to do was sit on the cliff in the meadow with his feet dangling above the ocean, because right now, he wasn’t the chosen; for the first time since the damned title was passed to him fifteen years ago, he was just Zelos, and right now, he  _ needed _ to be Zelos.

The rustling stops and the silence is broken by a shout behind him-- one of his least favourite voices reciting his least favourite string of words. 

“Zelos Wilder, chosen of Tethe’alla.” 

Zelos does not budge from his spot. 

"Nah. I’m just Zelos, traitor to Tethe’alla now." 

For someone who chose to run away, he felt surprisingly apathetic about being found so soon. Instead, he continues to laugh. " _ Lloyd Aurion  _ , correct? Ha. I know why you're here. If you want to kill me, feel free. Can't get much worse than this."

Lloyd shakes his head, his gaze unwavering. "You're the chosen. I can't kill you. Cruxis needs you to continue the journey, and that's why I'm here."

Zelos’ head turns to the boy behind him. "What happens if I say no?" 

“Then we drag you there ourselves and make sure that the world regeneration happens." As their eyes lock, the tension between the two men could be sliced directly down the middle with either of their blades. 

The chosen stretches his arms behind his head and smirks. Nothing on this journey had felt good, but  _ none _ of it felt better than  _ resisting _ . "Then my answer is no." 

"You have to!" Lloyd's face fills with frustration, but more than that, fear; after all, no-one prepared him for the possibility that the chosen would refuse so outright, and more than that, that the chosen would be so particularly  _ fiery  _ . He had yet to be on the receiving end of Lord Yggdrasill's rage, and that was something he planned to avoid at all costs. He had to do something.

Without a second thought, Lloyd draws his swords. 

"Oh, so you wanna play after all? Fine. I'll humour ya." Zelos unsheathes his blade and braces himself for a fight, and a fight there  _ was _ .

The emissary of Cruxis charges toward the chosen, wielding two shining swords that sliced through skin as easily as they sliced through paper. Despite initiating combat, Lloyd did not plan to hurt Zelos; on the contrary, he hoped only to overpower the chosen and force him into submission. At least, that  _ was _ the plan; what he  _ didn’t _ plan for was the true battle of shining blades that resulted.

Only a few moments and even fewer clangs of swords later, it became evident to Lloyd that Zelos was still going to put up a fight-- which was going to leave this much more difficult than he had initially assumed.

Lloyd had many heavy-hitting artes at his disposal, but Zelos’ agility was unmatched even in his current condition. With every Sword Rain or Beast that Lloyd unleashes, the redhead’s movements always seemed as if they were one step ahead of his.

As weapons collide, Lloyd grunts  _ “Give it up, Zelos,” _ through gritted teeth.

Truth be told, Zelos isn’t sure how much longer he could gather the strength to keep fighting. As he alternates between dodging with grace and attacking with sheer aggression, he begins to notice that his body can’t keep up with his mind’s demands once more, much like the night he flew across the ocean on little more than a whim. He is brazenly overexerting himself now for one reason alone: whether he lived or died after this was of no consequence to him anymore. Yet, despite recognizing that his physical stamina is dwindling, Zelos’ expression is nothing less than smug. 

“What, you can’t beat me?” In the chosen’s eyes, the longer he can keep up the act, the better.

Lloyd rushes toward him, ready to attack. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that!” he shouts.

In response, Zelos’ signature devious half-smile creeps across his face. “Try me.” As Lloyd’s swords surge toward him, he skips out of range, watching as Lloyd freezes in his tracks. The emissary’s face contorts in panic, all but dropping his blades in recoil.

The chosen’s sword is now pointed inches away from Lloyd’s throat; Zelos’ tone mocks and taunts as he scoffs toward the other man. “What, are you done?” 

“No-- but I think you are.” Lloyd’s energy is terror-stricken the moment he sheathes his swords and gestures to the redhead’s side. 

The panic was coming back, and Zelos eases his blade, freezes in his tracks the moment his arm dops.  _ ‘Oh, crap.’  _ He dreads having to see for himself whatever made Lloyd’s face turn as white as snow. Unfortunately, he knew in his core that he couldn’t avoid it much longer, especially if it were as serious as the other man’s expression made it out to be. 

Turning his gaze downward, the chosen’s clothes are stained crimson red as blood pours from a splitting wound on his abdomen.  _ ‘I must not have moved in time...’  _ With one hand covering the bleeding laceration, he raises his blade all  _ over again _ to challenge Lloyd to resume their fight. 

“Come on, don’t you want to finish me off,  _ Mr. Cruxis  _ ? You’re so,  _ so  _ close!” He cries with sarcastic sincerity. In this moment, Zelos finally understood how his father must have felt the moment he dragged the dagger across his wrist.

In _this moment_ , he felt it too.

Visceral blood pours from the incision and seeps through Zelos’ glove-- despite the bleeding showing no signs of stopping, it does not hinder him in the slightest. Lloyd, on the other hand, must have been  _ three times _ more distressed over the chosen’s wound than even the chosen  _ himself _ was. 

“No! Look how much you’re bleeding!  _ Doesn’t that hurt!?  _ ”

Zelos is dead quiet, standing simply with his blade pointed at Lloyd as the shade of red continues to taint his clothing. 

_ ‘Guh!’  _ The emissary grunts, turning his back on the chosen and beginning to walk away in the same empty silence that Zelos offered to him.

Zelos keels over, trying with every last sense in his unfeeling body to stop the blood before he loses consciousness; despite his predicament, the other man keeps sprinting into the distance. “Hey! Wait! Where are you going!?” Zelos shouts into the rising sun with a voice hoarse from shrieking.

The envoy of Cruxis stops only for a split second, turning to Zelos and bellowing “I can’t keep fighting you! This is wrong!”

Lloyd’s figure becomes a distant, faint silhouette as Zelos collapses to the ground. His wound drain into the grass as if to nourish the soil, and Zelos finds himself  _ laughing,  _ of all things. “Just gonna leave me here for dead, are ya? Ha!”

His current hardships-- losing his humanity, the journey, running away, and now this wound: there was nothing  _ funny  _ about these things at their core, but the absurdity of it all as he lay on the ground bleeding was  _ hysterical  _ to him. If there really were a Goddess out there, she certainly had a twisted sense of humour.

“Ha… ha ha....”

He allows his head to rest on the soil, and now the laughter won’t stop.

“Ha!  _ Hahahahaha!  _ ”

A deafening slam of the Abbey door knocks Zelos out of his trance, just in time for his vision to turn to a soft haze. 

Seles dashes to his side, her mouth gaping in shock as she sees her brother on the ground, his entire body doused in red viscera. “Zelos, is that you!? I heard shouting! What the hell happened!? Is this  _ your  _ blood, or someone else’s!?” 

Healing artes ignite the meadow in brisk flashes of light as Seles attempts to soothe his wounds; her artes were hardly strong enough to bring him back to baseline and she did not have much, if any, experience with treating wounds, but the least she could do was try in such dire circumstances.

The redhead closes his eyes, grinning all the way. “Cruxis found me. Couldn’t take ‘em on my own. He--”

She shakes her head, stopping him abruptly. “You know what? We can talk about this later! You need to rest.” The younger Wilder sibling reaches into her purse and retrieves a single life bottle-- as her hands shake, she struggles to open the jar of revival potion before finally unfastening the lid with a  _ ‘pop’  _ . “Do you realize how bad your wound is?”

“Heh. Don’t worry about it. Not like I can feel it anyway.” The bleeding is beginning to subside at last, but the wound still pulsates when Seles places her hand over it in futile attempt to stop it from splitting open once more.

“Do you really think that matters!? Come on, let’s head inside.” She shoves the life bottle in his direction before extending her hand toward him. “Can you stand now?”

He grabs her hand in return and settles back on his feet, but not without leaning up against his sister as they return to the Abbey. 

“Seles. How did they find me?” Zelos’ half-smile quickly turns to a full-fledged frown. “The only one who knew I’d be here was you.”

She stops. “The church asked me to keep them informed of your whereabouts. I told them you were safe with me. I thought that they were on your side. Aren’t they?” 

By now, they had returned to Seles’ room where she began cleaning and bandaging his laceration-- considering his low pain tolerance, Zelos never imagined he would miss the feeling of aching discomfort. Even the feeling of antiseptic stinging against a fresh lesion would be preferable to  _ nothing at all _ .

“The church, Cruxis-- I’m convinced they’re all the bad guys. There’s no other explanation for all of this!” Zelos slams his fist into the bed as his sister glares.

“Don’t move! Dressing wounds is careful work, you know!” It doesn’t take long for her to adopt a frown filled with displeasure. “The church told me that they were going to protect you, and that's why I needed to write to them. Despite everything we’ve been through… I do care, Zelos.”

The chosen only chuckles under his breath. “Ha! They wanted to protect me, huh? That’s funny.”

“Yeah, at least that’s what they told me. I was deceived, and now I know not to trust them. But don’t worry,” Seles looks at her brother with a confident smile beaming across her face. “I’ll protect you instead!”

A smile that felt like home, for the first time in longer than he could remember.

Seles’ hearty grin is infectious, and before the silence is prolonged, Zelos finds himself with the first genuine smile he can recall crossing his face since the journey began. “Thanks, little sis.” 

A delay in response leaves an empty space for the chosen to ask his sister something that had been running marathons through his head for seemingly endless days-- of course,  _ every day _ is endless without sleep. “Say, while I’m here, can I talk to you about something?”

Seles finishes wrapping his abdomen with gauze and looks him in the eyes again. “Yeah, if you want.”

“I’ve been thinking about Dad a lot lately. We touched on it yesterday, at least a little bit. Do you really think he knew about what the journey involved? Losing humanity, becoming an angel, and whatever happens to us after all the seals are released?” Zelos crosses his arms, his tone apprehensive and exuding regret. Regret for what, however, he didn’t know.

Seles furrows her brows. “I don’t know. I was really young when he died, younger than you. But I wonder, too. He took his life the day of the oracle. It would only make sense.”

“Is it bad that I can say that I understand why he did it?” Zelos’ gaze darts to the ground, examining every imperfection of the stone floor.

“ _ Zelos! _ Don’t you dare say that!” Seles’ words are heated like hellfire, but only for the blink of an eye and the bat of a lash. Instead, she ceases, pursing her lips with arms folded.

_ ‘Hmph’  _ . “I’m just saying, if he did know about the journey, I can see why he wouldn’t want to do it, and I can see why the church would keep me in the dark about it. His last words were that one day, I was going to go on a journey… he knew damn well that I was gonna have to go in his place.”

“I mean… I think you’re actually very brave, though. You’ve survived all of this.” Her words were warm and caring, but far from pitying.

“Heh. _ ‘Brave’  _ . Maybe. Brave, but  _ horribly  _ unlucky.” 

Everything that happened since the journey began was beginning to catch up to him, and Zelos now can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all once again as he contemplates the sheer  _ meaninglessness  _ of his life. Not everything feels like something else. Some things just feel like nothing. If there were a Goddess out there after all, the tricks she played were anything but funny. If there were a Goddess, she would have to  _ beg _ for his forgiveness.

After all, strong, brave-- they never do call the fortunate ones those things, do they?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Click here for my commentary on this chapter: brags, regrets, and trivia!](https://twitter.com/flambydelrabies/status/1293624321882169345)


	4. The Hedgehog's Dilemma

_“Perhaps I am just dead and pretending to live here._  
_There is, at any rate, no sign of life in me.”_

_\- Katherine Mansfield_

//

“Are you sure we’re going in the right direction? Looks like a whole lot of nothing out here so far.” Genis’ eyes roll before he lets out a yawn-- after all, the party had hardly slept a wink following Zelos’ disappearance, and it didn’t take much to tire after the amount of hasty travel as they had endured to begin with.

Nodding, Sheena continues to lead her companions through the open fields ahead. “I’m certain of it, and I'm even pretty sure that we're almost there."

The summoner had been to their impending destination only once and she had met the person who lived there few more times than that, with every visit being brief, congenial, superficial, and nothing more. Sheena was beginning to doubt whether the occupant would recognize her at all; after all, it had been a few years-- surely, it could only have been three at most. Whether she were to be recognized was far less important than finding the runaway chosen, and this excursion was the only lead that gripped them by the arm and beckoned forward.

As the party progressed closer to the ocean cliffside, the faint silhouette of a building could be spied on the edge of the horizon, casting a shadow through the midday sunbeams. Raine is the one who eyes it first, turning her gaze from the house in the distance to her companions instead.

“Sheena, is this our destination?” she asks, the feeling of weariness creeping through her nimble body. Tireless travel certainly doesn’t mesh with tireless minds.

Sheena nods. “Yeah. It has to be.”

As the four comrades approach with haste, Genis raises an eyebrow and frowns. “Who is this mystery person we’re about to see, anyway? How are they gonna help us find the idiot?” Raine raises her hand and gives her brother a _smack_ across the head the moment the final word leaves his mouth.

Once the elves draw quiet, the summoner sheepishly taps her fist on the door, hardly loud enough to be audible at all. “The person we’re about to see is the only family Zelos has left.”

To everyone’s surprise, the door swings open as quickly as Sheena’s careful knocks to reveal none other than Seles Wilder herself.

“And who are you people, exactly?” she asks, eyes turning to slits as she examines the party from top to bottom.

Sheena smiles a warm, friendly, albeit timid grin, hoping to soften the girl’s demeanor. “It’s me, Sheena. We met a few years ago, when Zelos and I came here.”

“I remember you. But who are the rest of you?” Seles gestures toward Regal and the elven siblings; the four of them all together certainly formed a diverse crowd if she’d ever seen one. If not for Sheena's presence, Seles would likely have turned this rag-tag band of misfits away and told them not to come back.

“We are Zelos’ companions sent to accompany him on the journey of regeneration. He seems to have left without notice, and we came to see if you had any information regarding his whereabouts,” Regal speaks-- sophisticated, verbose, but still emotionless.

Seles does little more than frown in return. “You’ll have to give me a minute. I hardly ever get visitors, and I would hate to just send you back after coming all this way.” The door is shut in a cold, abrupt manner, slamming in the faces of Zelos’ comrades before Seles scales the stairs to her room.

“Zelos. There are people here to see you. They say they’re your companions on the journey. What do I tell them?”

The chosen lays on his back and stares into the cracks of the ceiling, forever indifferent. “Let them in, I guess. Cruxis already know I’m here.”

Before long, Seles descends the stairs once more until Zelos hears the flinging of doors and patter of footsteps. Seles was correct in that she rarely has guests: very few of Tethe’alla’s inhabitants even realize the Abbey exists, much less that it houses the former chosen’s only daughter. Every move made echoes throughout the entire building, and those same footsteps become louder and more hurried as they escalate the seldom-used staircase to find Zelos’ temporary shelter. He couldn’t bring himself to care; by this point, he had screwed up not only the journey of regeneration, but running from it as well. More of a failure of a chosen than his father, who had at least _succeeded_ at running away.

“Zelos! What the _hell_ is going on!?” Sheena’s voice punctures along his skin like the tips of glacial needles as the door swings open, revealing the chosen bandaged, bruised, and sprawled on the bed. The once-proud chosen in such a state of nihilistic vulnerability was a sight to be seen as all eyes were on him once more. _‘Take a picture-- it’ll last longer!’_ Zelos only smirks at the thought.

“I'm thinkin’ the better question here is ‘how did you find me’.”

The summoner reaches into her pocket and retrieves the crumpled piece of paper he left behind before promptly _hurling_ it directly at him. Much to Sheena’s surprise, Zelos is not phased as the spitball of a note collides with the wall mere inches from his eye.

“Explain this.”

“Sheena. He’s wounded.” Raine walks over to the bed and begins casting her healing artes with great skill and care. Despite the younger of the Wilder siblings performing a satisfactory job of treating, dressing and caring for his wound, the scholar’s artes were far stronger and more advanced than those Seles possessed.

Genis sighs. “So, are you gonna tell us what happened or not?”

Sitting up and resting his back against the wall as Raine’s magic pulsates throughout the room, Zelos’ face contorts into a bleak, nihilistic seriousness he rarely unveils. 

“Well, I guess I _do_ owe you folks an explanation…”

//

_‘He didn’t even flinch.’_ Lloyd sprints through Welgaia’s hallways with a sense of _wrath_ he had never once felt-- not now, not ever, not in his _entire lifetime_.

_‘He fought back, but somehow, he was still so willing to die!’_

A gloved hand slams against magitech doors, forcing them to slide open and reveal Cruxis’ overlord. Lloyd’s body quakes in anger as he stands before his leader, shaking and still scuffed from the fight only hours before. With everything racing through his mind, the last thing he could think to do was clean up the blood that littered his clothes like malevolent raindrops. 

“Lord Yggdrasill! You need to tell me what’s going on _right now_! ”

“That’s no way to talk to your superiors, Lloyd Aurion - _son of Kratos_ . ” The poison in Yggdrasill’s words is undeniable as he smirks at the unkempt, _unruly_ boy before him. “I trust that you have accomplished your goal of retrieving the chosen.”

“What makes someone the chosen, and what happens to them once the world is saved!? What the _hell_ is the journey of regeneration!?”

Yggdrasill lifts himself out of his seat and stands tall, dividing the stifling air between them directly in two. "Clearly, you are aware that the aim of the journey of regeneration is to reverse the mana flow between Sylvarant and Tethe’alla. Now, why don't I show you _why_ we do this?" 

The leader of Cruxis extends his arm directly in front of his body, his open palm turned to the ceiling. "The Cruxis crystal will allow one to change their appearance to whatever their heart desires, and it allows us to live well past the constraints of a human or half-elf lifespan. How do you think that we seraphim have been living since the ancient war? How do you think that your _father_ was able to live to this day?"

Lloyd's hands ball into fists. "Tell me something I _don't_ already know!" 

"Lloyd Aurion, you are only but eighteen years old. There are _many_ things you don't know." 

Yggdrasill's smirk grows wider as he shuts his eyes; in the stifling flicker of a single moment, turquoise crystals speckle over his limbs like a _parasite_ as the crystallization creeps from the tips of his fingers and into his chest. The pattern of crystals was almost one that resembled a grid of points, if the elements that littered his body were hardened scales and wicked enough to kill.

Lloyd lets out a subtle gasp as he watches his leader's body crackle with oozing gems-- never once did he think he'd be horrified by the sight of shining, twisting, blue-green crystals. 

"I trust you have heard of the Angel Toxicosis phenomenon. Those who share a mana signature close to that of mine and Martel are prone to it. Eventually, even a Rune crest can no longer contain it, and as such, a new body is required every two thousand years." 

With a wave of his hand, Yggdrasill uses the Cruxis crystal to hide his sickness once more; it was almost as though he had never revealed his gruesome toxicity at all. The fact that Yggdrasill’s body could be overcome by such a frightening disease from _one little stone_ horrified him-- and the only thought racing through Lloyd’s mind is _‘and I inflicted this on the chosen of Tethe’alla, didn’t I!?’_

"So what does this have to do with the chosen, the journey, and saving the world!?" Lloyd barks, his voice hoarse with frustration. Ever the kind soul, Lloyd was, _truly, madly, and deeply_ \-- far too much so for the role he was born to play.

Yggdrasill lets out a sharp 'hmph' to cut the silence that followed. "You would be foolish to think that this has anything to do with saving the two worlds. Sylvarant and Tethe’alla are in limbo. The journey of world regeneration is a process of creating the perfect vessel out of those with the closest mana signature to ours until we get it right."

The brunette is frozen in place, his mouth trembling as he struggles to find the right words to speak next. To his dismay, there aren’t any.

"That's _twisted_ ," he finally says. "Has this even worked before!?" 

"Once, yes-- two thousand years ago. Martel, unfortunately, refuses to accept any vessels we present to her. As such, her spirit continues to reside within the Great Seed. If you think this is twisted, then so be it." 

Yggdrasill frowns before continuing his speech, observing the shock and horror in each of Lloyd's contorting mannerisms with each passing word. "Now, Zelos Wilder, chosen of Tethe’alla, was to be my new body. You will try again to force him to the final seal, or you will suffer consequences, Lloyd Aurion. Either way, you will be out of my sight." 

Lloyd is seething with rage from his every pore, and finally, he wasn’t afraid to let it be known. _Everyone has a breaking point,_ and at long last, Lloyd had found his.

"Hell yeah, I think this is twisted! You guys have kept me in the dark about this my entire life and have still expected me to play along in your big, stupid game! People shouldn't have to _die_ for this!" 

Lloyd’s fist collides with the polycarbonate wall beside him, and this time, the anger flowing through his body makes it impossible to notice any pain whatsoever. "I'm done! I'm not doing this anymore!" he shouts as he turns to leave.

Yggdrasill gives the _son of Kratos_ a glare that could kill. "If you want to run too, then go-- run . Just know that we of Cruxis will always find you, Lloyd."

"Go to hell!" Lloyd spits toward his leader, his words corroding with each step he took before sprinting out of the room as quickly as he had arrived. He knew with everything in his being that he would be found eventually, but he knew just as well that there was _one person_ he had to see. 

//

"...So that's my tale of sadness and woe, and why I ditched. Say whatever you want. Doesn't change anything." Zelos laughs, running his fingers through rose-red locks of hair. At this point, it was unclear how much he’s faking confidence and how much of his demeanor was just because he _didn’t care anymore_. Perhaps the flame-spitting chosen had found his breaking point as well, but it seemed each time he believed that to be true, everything only spiralled further out of control.

Sheena's sigh is deep, altruistic, and above all else, sympathetic. "I knew something was up. It's not like you to not eat and it's not like you to not sleep. But not being able to feel anything… that's torture." The thought of never again being able to feel the warmth of touch on one’s skin was chilling in every sense of the word.

"But as a scholar… I must say that it is _highly_ fascinating! You must allow me the opportunity to study your condition." Raine's eyes glisten with a sparkle only seen when presented with an opportunity for any sort of research. It was clear she had already lost awareness that her scholarly mania was _highly_ distasteful in this situation, leading Sheena’s sharp glare to pierce directly through the academic like thousands of microscopic needles. 

"You're the one who said he's wounded! This is absolutely _not_ the time for this!" 

"But what other opportunity will I have to examine the chosen's angelic transformation? Certainly, never again in my lifetime. _My_ , what a fascinating process!" The scholar's eyes fill with stars as her gaze lands on none other than the chosen himself. 

"Hey! Back off! He's still a _human being_ , and our friend, too!" Sheena clenches her fists as venom drips from her tongue. If one were to listen closely, they could hear that same venom _drip, drip, drip_ onto the floor.

Genis groans in exasperation. "Oh my _Goddess_ , shut _up_ already, you two!" 

"Now, now, my hunnies! There's enough of me for all of you!" The goofy grin on Zelos' face is both unmatched and completely inappropriate for the situation-- alas, nobody is impressed, save for Zelos, who was _terribly_ impressed with himself for still being able to fake it _so well_.

The summoner's frustration is swiftly redirected, and this time, the chosen is the target. "Zelos! You're unbelievable, saying stuff like that in a situation like this!"

Genis places a hand on his sister's arm and the sensation of a familiar aura begins to ground her back to reality. Raine's voice has softened, a stark contrast to the frantic enthusiasm she radiated only minutes before; the same way her healing artes soothed Zelos’ wounds, the comfort of her brother’s energy worked like magic to subdue the scholar’s hypomanic obsessions.

"I suppose you're right, Sheena. I apologize. We shouldn't be fighting when there are bigger problems at hand. Perhaps I can examine your condition at a later time, Zelos." 

Regal turns to the chosen, cutting the tension in the room short-- a skill he possessed in spades. "Chosen one. How do you request that we proceed?"

Zelos' smile dissipates. There were no next steps at this point. If they were wanted by Cruxis then they were wanted by the Church and that meant they were nothing more than birds clipped at the wings. Ironic, seeing as Zelos wanted nothing more than to shear off his own. "Really, I think we need to leave. Clearly Cruxis knows where we are."

“Where is there to _go_ at this point? If we’re ditching the journey, then we’re gonna be wanted no matter _where_ we are.” Genis quips, and the subsequent nods around the room echo in bittersweet agreement.

“Regal took us here by boat. It’s the only way to get to this part of the continent, and the only way to leave as well. We should start by getting off this island.” Raine’s suggestion was one of logic and fact, considering their circumstances. If there _were_ a next step, this would be it.

“Yeah, as long as we’re here, there’s a target on our backs.” Sheena extends a hand to help Zelos lift himself out of bed. Instead, he bats it away and stands on his own. 

“Alright, ladies and gents. If you’re ready, let’s be on our way, shall we?”

As the party descends the stairs, Zelos finds himself staring face-to-face with his younger sister, and he finds his frown only growing. Goodbyes were never his strong suit; when one spends a lifetime in a constant state of fleeing one phenomenon or another, very goodbyes _needed_ to be said. Instead, all Zelos ever had to do was get up and leave, and that was _‘goodbye’_ enough. Today, that wouldn’t do.

The siblings stand only paces away before their pupils lock, Seles’ expression bleak as she stares into eyes burdened by the blood of their shared ancestors. Her brother’s eyes, with the same glassy gaze that echoes the sadness in her own-- certainly, a burden that could only be understood by the last two surviving Wilders.

“So I guess you’re leaving now, huh?” 

He nods before turning to join his companions outside the Abbey’s stone walls. “Heh. Don’t know where I'm going yet, but I'll be strong for ya, sis.”

“Hey, Zelos?” she asks, her voice losing strength with each passing word.

The chosen stops in his tracks, glancing over his shoulder at the girl’s quivering frown. “Yeah?”

“Come back sometime, okay? I don’t want to spend another two years without seeing you.”

Her voice is barely audible, but its subdued tone only adds to the buzz of compassion swimming between the siblings, until Seles springs toward her brother and wraps her arms around him as tightly as she could. Thus, the silence is broken as quickly as it was born; hopefully, following this latest visit, the silence between them could be dispelled for the rest of his days. 

Despite the fact that he could no longer feel the warmth of being held or holding someone in return, a smile still creeps across Zelos’ face at the gesture. “Don’t worry, I'll be back. You can trust me on this one.”

“Hey! Zelos! Are you coming or what?” Genis shouts from the open door as the chosen breaks from the embrace. Turning away unhurried, he gives a simple _“See ya”_ and flippant wave to Seles, whose smile is just as filled with tenderness as it is with sadness.

“May the Goddess be with you, Zelos,” she says to her brother as she watches him walk from her arms into the desolate unknown.

//

The southern islands of the far east continent resemble outstretched meadows with no hills, trees, or forests in sight; anyone standing in the centre would find that they could see out into the horizon, then eventually into the ocean in all four directions. Short of the Abbey and a dock that was a few hours’ walk from it, the archipelago could only be described as forsaken-- even more so now that the plants were gently wilting from the mana shortage.

By now, Zelos had figured out that while he can no longer eat, sleep, or feel, many of his senses had been _amplified_ by unlocking the seals instead. His strengthened eyesight allowed him to see even the most faraway clouds and stars in the Tethe’allan sky, and right now, he is _completely certain_ that he hears unusual rustling noises coming from behind him and his companions. 

It was difficult to be certain how far away the ripples of movement were, and there was always the off chance that it was merely caused by monsters roaming the fields. Since his comrades could not hear these noises--or perhaps, if they _could_ , that they assumed that the noises were merely from their own footsteps, he chose to ignore them and carry on toward the lone dock. That is, until he heard an _unfavourable_ voice once more.

“Zelos. Chosen of Tethe’alla.”

Slowly, all five heroes turn around with agitation surging through their bodies and minds-- the voice is instantly recognized as that of the ambassador of Cruxis, who stands with his fists at his sides.

“Crap. This is bad.” Sheena grits her teeth and prepares an incantation, while the rest of the party prepare for an arduous battle. An enemy is an enemy, but crossing paths with a member of Cruxis was the _last_ thing they needed, especially so _soon_.

Zelos, however, takes this opportunity to chuckle softly as his hand drifts to the hilt of his blade. “What, you gonna finish me off this time? Come on, you know I can take you.”

Lloyd shakes his head in response. “I’m not here to fight you. I just want to talk. Here, if you want me to prove it, I will.” 

Reaching to the two swords at his sides, he draws the blades from their sheathes, causing the party to immediately jump to their defenses; to their collective surprise, the brunette places them gently on the ground in front of him and takes a heavy step backwards. Despite appearances, he truly was sincere in his desire to exchange words and nothing more.

“Do you trust me now?”

The chosen smirks. “Ha. Not any farther than I can throw you. But I suppose if you’re not gonna fight, then I'll at least listen to what you have to say."

"That's all I can ask for. Do you know why the journey of regeneration exists?" He asks, brows furrowed and gaze stern. 

"Heh. I get it. You're here to _gently convince_ me this time. I'm not going back, and you can tell that to the rest of Cruxis' dogs too." Despite the emissary having dropped his weapons, Zelos only grips his blade tighter. 

Lloyd frowns in response to the knee-jerk assumption, but at the very same time, the brunette could hardly blame Zelos after what he went through only the day before-- at Lloyd’s very own hands, nonetheless. 

"As of right now, I'm not with Cruxis anymore. I thought after what happened the other night, the least I could do was give you a warning by telling you what I know." 

"Fine. Hit me with it then. After all, a traitor to Cruxis has no reason to lie aside from covering their own ass, and I couldn't even fault ya for doing that." After careful consideration, the chosen drops his wrist. 

"Cruxis is run by an angel by the name of Yggdrasill. He has a Cruxis crystal, just like you do, and that crystal has allowed him to live longer than even an elf can-- by a lot."

"And?" 

Lloyd stands with his fists still clenched ever firmly at his sides, clenching only _tighter_ as their conversation draws on. "The Cruxis crystal is making him sick, and his body is starting to be consumed by the crystal. So now the process of regenerating the world is the process of creating vessels for Yggdrasill and the goddess Martel."

Zelos takes a step backwards and glances from the emissary to his companions. His expression is nearly impossible to decipher, and for good reason-- even Zelos himself had no idea how he felt hearing this. "So what are you saying, exactly?" 

The chosen was a wild card, but Lloyd couldn't help but feel sympathy for him; after all, the fate of the chosen in the declining world is that of death. "You're a sacrifice. You regenerate the world, and then you die."

Where Lloyd meant 'sympathy', Zelos saw 'pity' instead. Deep down, part of him _must_ have known that when he left on the journey, he would never come back, but that certainly didn’t mean he liked to be _reminded_ of such. Unfortunately, given the circumstances, he could no longer delude himself into thinking he was more than a lamb meant for slaughter, and the look in Lloyd’s eyes was doing _nothing_ to make it any better. Not that he would expect much from an enemy, to begin with.

"Don't look at me like that, man. This is all partially your fault, too. Why even come tell me this? Just go back to Cruxis and enjoy conquering the world, or whatever the hell you do with them."

"No." Lloyd shakes his head. "I spent my entire life in the dark, blindly following Yggdrasill's commands. Now that I know, I can't go back. There must be a way to save the two worlds and make sure nobody else has to die at the same time, and that's why I'm here."

"How do we know we can really trust you, though? It was only a few _days_ ago you came after us!" Genis exclaims with a cry based in the pit of his throat. He was right, if nothing else.

The chosen smirks; upon listening to the former emissary’s tale, he had to admit that he felt a subtle change of heart toward the boy. Both had spent their lives living a collective string of lies that had unraveled around their wrists in the last forty-eight hours, and somehow, it was clear to Zelos that their fates were interlocked by that reason alone. Still, his trust was only strong enough to believe Lloyd’s words, at least-- _not much more_. Finally, Zelos speaks.

"Don't you get it, Genis? We're both traitors to Cruxis. We both ditched. All I want to do is live my life free from this stupid title, but I guess if we can find a way to still save the world along the way like this guy wants, it's a win-win situation."

"Lloyd, right?" Raine glances toward the former envoy, who nods in confirmation. "So, Lloyd-- what will you do, then?" 

He's shaking his head in uncertainty now, as one does after their entire world is shattered in the span of a night. "I guess if our goals are the same, then I'd like to go with you."

Regal examines the youth up and down, taking note of the fact that he was still unarmed and had not touched his weapons in the entire span of the conversation. "I suppose if it seems our goals truly are the same, then it would only make sense for you to come with us."

 _‘Great’._ This is exactly what Zelos wanted to _avoid_. "Well, I mean, I don't really like talking to guys, much less ones who wound my gorgeous physique…" He’s trailing a finger through scarlet hair now, and his sense of disappointment in his soft-hearted companions is clear as day. 

"Oh, come on!" Lloyd groans; with minor prodding, he’s beginning to drop the guard that Cruxis always taught him to hold steady, balanced, and composed over his heart. Zelos was envious of his childlike innocence, if nothing more. "I'm here to help save you, okay!?" 

"Fine, fine. I'm going to call you 'bud' for now, at least until I actually like ya."

Sheena is rolling her eyes now, placing her hands on her hips with force. "You're lucky. That's way nicer than some of the stuff he calls _me_." 

The new party of six continue to traverse the fields, prompting Lloyd to stop and ask "Say, where are we going, exactly?". Zelos gives a quick shrug and carries on his way. 

"No idea yet. All we know is we gotta get out of here."

As the midday glow transforms into pink evening sky, the traitors walk together into the setting sun.

//

It must be nearing midnight by the time Zelos and his companions arrive at the northeastern continent-- at least, judging by the chosen's clever analysis of the constellations littering the night sky alone. When Cygnus rang high, that generally meant his clock reset, and _'24 hours without sleep'_ became _'0 hours without sleep'_ once more. Every day, that same clock dinged against the number twenty-four, symbolized only in his mind by a swan composed of stars stretched wide through the sky. Such trivial things were all he could think about on these sleepless nights; at least that way, it kept his mind busy enough not to dwell in the darker places. The more he could keep his parents’ dead bodies at bay, the less he had to accept that this journey would take his life too.

The harbor is bathed in moonlight in impeccable fashion, everything shrouded in darkness left nothing more than a ghost to the light of day. _"Finally, land,"_ Raine breathes as their ship is docked in a dead silent port; there was nobody in sight, and thus, nobody to worry about reporting on the group of deserters. After all, if the Church of Martel are after them now, who knows how far word of their departure must have spread. 

Glancing from side to side, Zelos examines their collective surroundings: there are bushes and a forest thirty feet from the docks, which could make an excellent campsite for the night. That is, assuming the trees were thick enough to mask them from any sailors coming and going the next day. 

“I mean, we’ve got a forest directly to the north, but I suppose it all depends on how stealthy we’re trying to be right now.” The chosen is matter-of-fact and continues with sound judgement. He had spent many twenty-two years trying to escape himself, but this ordeal was his very first time spent running away in the flesh. “Obviously it doesn’t matter to me, but you folks must be beat by now.”

Lloyd yawns. “You’re right, I am pretty beat. I wouldn’t mind finding a spot in that forest for the night.”

Taking a step forward, Regal descends upon the wooden dock; the jaded fatigue that sank underneath his eyes spoke _‘yes, absolutely’,_ but _‘convenient’_ and _‘smart’_ are two vastly different concepts. 

“It may be too obvious if we rest here. I feel that we should carry on for now.”

The chosen is grinning now-- specifically, at Lloyd. “Ha. Somebody’s clearly never been on the run before.” To be fair, as previously established, neither had he.

Lloyd frowns in return, the curvature of his mouth the complete opposite of that of the redhead. “Hey!”

In response, Zelos gives Lloyd a firm pat on the back; yet another small, undesired action he clearly isn’t pleased about. “Come on, bud. Don’t look at me like that. First time for everything!”

As the two men bicker, Sheena begins progressing toward the field, Genis and Raine in tow. For once, she had no involvement in the quarrel. “We should get going. Who knows how much time we’ve got.”

“Sure thing, hunny,” Zelos says with a flick of his silver tongue. His words are as egotistic as can be for one as filled with doubt as he is; how someone could be as publically self-centred and privately self-defeating was a lesson in dialectics for anyone who could have wanted one.

Thankfully for the great Zelos Wilder, no-one did.

//

The crackle of a makeshift campfire becomes a source of comfort to the party of six as it breaks the silence of empty midnight air. Within half an hour of arriving at the northwest continent and docking their ship, a secluded thicket was found further along the shoreline and deemed an adequate place to rest for the night _(or, perhaps, what was left of it)_. Before long, everyone was collapsed in the grass, appreciative of the opportunity to sleep and dream-- save for Zelos, of course, who was rightfully thrust into the position of night watch.

As much as it pained him to waste the night fulfilling this monotonous role, he knew it only made sense. Tonight, the chosen spent his night seated with his back against the wide trunk of a tree keeping close watch over his companions in their slumber, as always. More importantly than that, as Zelos collapses the side of his face into his open palm, he can't help but notice that he isn't the only one still awake. He tosses a quick glance at Lloyd, who had been tossing and turning from the very moment he attempted to rest. 

"What, can't sleep or somethin'?" 

The brunette shakes his head before deciding to give up on sleep for now. Instead, he opts to join Zelos by the crackling fire. 

"Ever since I found out what world regeneration means, I can't get it out of my head. The fact that someone split the entire world just to live forever…" 

Zelos stares at him, his face completely void of expression. Puzzled, this prompts Lloyd to scrunch his brows. 

"Doesn't that bother you? This affects you more than anyone else." 

The chosen only chuckles. "Come on, bud. Wouldn't be the first time someone wanted my body! Only difference is, it's usually _voluptuous women_ rather than some crusty geezer. _Ugh!_ "

"Zelos, that's all you have to say about this?" Lloyd asks, his ember eyes igniting with frustration. "All you can do is be a smartass about how many women want you, when you might lose your life!?" 

"Ha. What can I say? My life is a series of small tragedies." As the chosen shrugs, curls of crimson red hair cascade down his back. 

"I'm just saying, I know there's more to you than this!" Lloyd snaps before immediately lowering his voice; after all, the last thing he wanted was to wake his newfound companions over such an objectively foolish quarrel. 

The redhead's growing annoyance is written all over his face as he struggles to hide a glower as fiery as the glow in Lloyd’s eyes. 

"Hey, now. Pretty presumptuous to assume you know _anything_ about me or how I feel." 

"You know what, Zelos?" Lloyd exhales a harsh sigh. "I left Cruxis so that I could find a way to save the two worlds without anyone being sacrificed, and that means saving you, too!" 

Zelos raises a single brow before reclining backwards. "Whatever you say, bud."

"I'm just saying, if we're going to save the world--" 

"And who says there's a _'we'_ here, exactly?" the chosen interrupts without warning, his tone cutting like nimble razors. 

A sharp inhale follows, followed even further by a groan. "Fine, if _I'm_ going to save the world, and you, too-- then I hope you can eventually learn to trust me."

"Whatever. Get some sleep, will ya?" Zelos carefully stands up, walking from the campsite into the darkness. He doesn't make it very far before hearing Lloyd snarl _'Argh, stupid chosen'_ behind him. 

_'Lloyd Aurion, whoever you are, there is a difference between you and me,'_ he ponders as dirt pathways crunch under his feet. 

_'You ran away to save the world, and I ran away to save myself.'_

//

Between the stress of leaving his life behind and the _unpleasant_ interaction he just had with the chosen, sleep certainly did not come easily to Lloyd tonight. There wasn’t much to be said for his idealism and defiance against Cruxis, at least for the time being; all he wanted was a break from the repetitive thoughts that ruminate in his head, and that break had yet to come. A few moments of solitude were all he needed.

The soft sound of rustling leaves on the ground was barely audible as he thought of all the new developments of the last forty-eight hours, but that same crackle was still jarring enough in the early morning silence that he sat up and adjusted his position.

_'What was that?'_

The sun may be rising, but the forest was still only a few degrees brighter than pitch black through the trees. The rustling grows rhythmic, beginning to resemble the sound of footsteps-- Lloyd hoped that it was Zelos returning from his walk, because he was certainly not ready for a fight, nor to defend everyone else.

The noise stops without warning, and Lloyd’s expression turns from one of annoyance to one of horror as he gazes upon the unlikely visitor.

“Lloyd. I believe a _conversation_ is due.” 

The voice is quiet, but _chilling_ as the brunette stares at the man before him. Moments later, he finds the only word he can think to speak at this point.

“...Dad?”

//

_'Guess I sorta ditched the whole night watch thing.'_

Zelos paces back toward the campsite at his leisure as nighttime turns to early morning. _'Not like anything ever happens anyways.'_

The closer he finds himself to their thicket of choice, the more he hears faint whispers in the distance. That alone immediately piques his interest, but the silhouette in the trees of Lloyd and an older man solidifies it. 

_'Wow. I stand corrected.'_ Zelos smirks as he watches the scene before him unfold. 

"I’m not going back, Dad." Lloyd looks his father in the eyes with pupils unwavering, like that of searing coal-- a defiance unparalleled.

"Then I repeat myself. You may either join me and return to Cruxis, or we will send our strongest angels to pursue you until the chosen releases the final seal."

Zelos creeps closer, trying his hardest not to draw attention to himself and his eavesdropping; he is fully aware that this behaviour is nosy and unfavourable, but Lloyd’s Cruxis father coming for a midnight visit immediately after he abandoned the organization-- my, isn't this conversation _interesting?_

Lloyd shakes his head. "I told you that I'm done! Send whoever you want after me. The answer is still no.”

Kratos gives audible 'hmph.' "Lloyd, you are my son, but the choices you are making are unwise at best and outright foolish at worst. The next time we meet, we will be enemies... and Cruxis will be taking the chosen as the new body for Lord Yggdrasill."

"Alright then. You can chase us as much as you'd like. I will _always_ fight back, and I will _always_ win against you!" 

As Kratos unsheathes his sword, it is only mere seconds before Lloyd finds his father's razor-sharp blade resting against the side of his neck. 

"Lloyd. Next time we meet, if you choose to fight back, I will _not_ hesitate."

Lloyd's eyes are wide as the full moon above while he stares back at Kratos in shock. 

"I take that as defeat, then. Farewell." Kratos' footsteps fade into nothingness as Lloyd swallows the shame in his gut even deeper-- something he thought to be impossible. He knew there was no way for him to win against the man who taught him everything he knew, but everything he knew prior to his betrayal of Cruxis was _wrong_ anyway. 

"What's up, bud? 3 A.M. daddy issues?" Zelos smirks as he approaches the scene. 

"I--" the brunette begins, only to be interrupted by another pat on the shoulder and the chosen's voice thick in his ear. 

"Go to bed, man. Unlike me, you clearly won't be able to function tomorrow on _zero_ hours of sleep."

Lloyd pulls away from the other man and settles in his former spot by the fire with no further thought to Zelos’ words. 

"Fine. Night," he groans, thrusting his body onto his side and at long last, drifting off to sleep in tune with the crackle of the fire. 

_'Cruxis are sending their strongest, huh? Guess we've either got to keep running or find a way to save the world.'_

He didn't want to make a decision between those two options, but as Zelos sat under the tapering light of Cygnus, he knew with every fiber in his being that his hands were tied, because running was no longer an option. 

//

"So… what's next?" Genis yawns and turns toward the chosen, who was the only one who could reasonably be expected to call the shots at this point in their journey. Zelos is also the only one in the group functioning at capacity as the rest of his companions begin to wake, leaving it only realistic to place him in charge. 

"Heh. I wouldn't mind getting some more info on the world regeneration. Fill in some blanks. Maybe then we can find a way to reverse whatever the hell is happening to me."

"We should look into Sybak's research facilities. I believe that may be our best opportunity to retrieve information of this sort." Regal’s suggestion is met with nods from some and noticeable frowns from others: namely, the siblings. 

Zelos' half-smile grows. "Well, not like we have a whole bunch of options. I'd be down for that, assuming everyone else is."

"Uh, guys. Have any of you stopped to consider that we're _on the run!?_ As in, the Church of Martel are after us, and Sybak is _crawling_ with Papal knights!?" Genis groans, arms folded sternly across his chest. He poses a valid point, but the cold sweat that trailed on the edge of each word he spoke indicated something far more sinister.

"What do you suggest as an alternative, Genis?" Regal is stalling now; it was clear that there were few other options left at this point, but if Genis must argue, then so be it. 

"I dunno. Just _not_ that."

"I've never been to Sybak before, and if it's our best option for information about world regeneration, then I want to go." Lloyd speaks with confidence, allowing himself room to breathe in spite of the continuous pressure ringing throughout the air. 

Sheena interjects, breaking some of the tension in the group. "Well, maybe we should just go and lay low… if Zelos can manage that, that is."

Genis and Raine are clearly unhappy, but their displeasure is greatly outnumbered. As such, a sharp sigh escapes the mouth of the scholar. "Fine, as you all wish. I would just request that everyone is careful and avoids drawing attention to themselves." 

All eyes are on Zelos now, who does nothing more than sheepishly grin at the unexpected attention. “Fine, fine…” he speaks, allowing himself to become the scapegoat for no reason other than to cut the hostility in the proverbial room.

Once the decision has been made for them, Raine turns to the north where the academic city could be found, and the rest of the party follow suit. Idle chatter courses through the group about nothing in particular, only mere pleasantries to distract from the crushing reality of their circumstances. All the while, the elves fall behind, allowing an opportunity for the two of them to exchange words of apprehension on their own. After all, keeping secrets is the first step to devastation.

"Genis, are you okay with this?" the scholar says to her brother in a tone faint and airy, with hands gently trembling alongside anxieties she rarely allowed herself to show. 

Shaking his head in return, all Genis can say is "Of course not. We’re risking everything just by going back.”

“I suppose all we can do is trust in the chosen and the Goddess, if she’s out there at all. For now, let’s do our best to stay strong.” Raine’s apprehension turns to dread as the party approaches the academic city. Silent, the siblings hide their collective secret in the pits of their stomachs and await to be devastated.

//

"This place is so different now, at least compared to the last time we were here." Genis' eyes dart from side to side, and it doesn't take long for his sister to join in careful analysis. 

"You're right. Mana has certainly continued to decline since then. The city is nearly _unrecognizable._ " 

Raine's statement is correct-- as Sybak is an academy based solely around magitechnology and research, it only makes sense for the mana shortage to hit the academic city harder than most. Lights flicker, usage of magitechnology has become slimmer, and scholars wander in confusion: all things that have greatly differed since Raine and Genis’ last trip to the academic city.

"You guys seem to know this place really well." Lloyd's words spoke the rest of the party's thoughts. 

Between the siblings’ wide array of knowledge, their desire to avoid the Papal knights at all costs, and the aura of mystery that shrouds their past, the pieces of the puzzle are all beginning to fit together, but not fast enough for anyone’s liking. In response, Sheena turns to face Raine and Genis, inquisitive as ever. 

"Hey, didn't you mention you studied here?" 

"Yeah, _did_. In the past tense."

Lloyd glances to the silver-haired boy. "You didn't finish? I didn't expect that.” This statement was certainly _not_ well-received, prompting Lloyd to follow up with “I mean, I guess what I'm saying is that you're definitely smart enough for it, Genis.”

“That’s just how life happens sometimes, I guess.” Genis shrugs, and the tone of his voice spoke _‘drop the subject, Lloyd’_ louder than his words did.

The group follow on the tails of their elven companions, careful that their speech is soft and the less-traveled paths are taken while they make their way through the largest university in Tethe’alla. Lloyd was particularly eager to visit the library, as the only libraries he had any opportunity to visit were filled with nothing but carefully picked books from Cruxis; by the time he left, he had read every book to death, and even still, _none_ of them had prepared him for the reality of Cruxis’ plans.

As the library doors swing open, Lloyd’s face brightens in awe as he stares upon seemingly endless rows of books.

“Wow! This is awesome! ” he exclaims just a _little_ too loud for his comrades’ comfort. Zelos grabs him by the arm in a knee-jerk, hyperreflexive response.

“Hold your horses, bud. Don’t forget that if we get caught, we’re all screwed.”

The brunette scratches his head and a sheepish grin trickles across his face. “Heh… sorry. I’ve just never seen this many books before.”

“Well then, what are ya waiting for? Start lookin’!”

Textbooks, hardcovers, and encyclopedias line the room on shelves that nearly stretch to the ceiling, making it difficult for the party to decide where to start in the first place. It doesn’t take long for Lloyd to drift to the centre of the room and Zelos to follow in his stead, even if only because it appeared the brunette knew what he was doing.

“Didn’t know you were so big into books.” Zelos says with an absent mind while he rifles through volumes of world history.

“Well, I mean. I guess I just didn’t get much of a chance to read much growing up, so it’s something that interests me now.” Lloyd glances at Zelos, who becomes increasingly aware the brunette really has _no idea_ what he’s doing. “Do you have a favourite book, Zelos?”

A laugh escapes Zelos’ mouth, followed by a hearty grin. “Of course! I’m well-versed in _adult literature_ . I’m sure you wouldn’t know anything about that, though.”

“Hey, what’s that supposed to mean!? I’m an adult!” Lloyd is peeved as he flips page after page. Irritated, but so, so clueless-- and Zelos couldn’t help but find that absolutely _hilarious_. His grin nearly stretches from ear-to-ear.

“Well, when a man and a woman love each other very much--”

 _“Zelos!”_ Sheena’s voice is as sharp as her glare. “Don’t bully him!”

“Ah, come on, Sheena! It’s just too easy!”

Their banter was interrupted by soft pacing from behind, causing the three heroes to raise their guard. “Chosen, I believe I found something of interest.” 

Everyone breathes a hearty sigh of relief upon finding the footsteps belong to Regal, and that he held a lexicon with a title in an unknown dialect in his hands.

“Damn, nice find, Regal! We should get the Professor to translate it.” Zelos crosses his arms and raises a brow, gesturing to the siblings from across the room.

Meanwhile, in his own world, Genis clutches textbooks between frail arms and keeps his gaze to the ground; when he glances in the direction of his companions, the boy’s eyes lock with a scholar in a white coat standing within earshot. There was no such thing as _‘playing it safe’_ or _‘not making a scene’_ when every corner of the room reeked of malice.

“Raine, I have a bad feeling about this,” Genis whispers to his sister in time with the scholar across the room muttering to a group of fellow academics.

“Yes, me too-- we must complete the task we came to accomplish and leave.” Raine’s vision darts around the room and every researcher she glances at radiates with hostility. After repeated glares and evil-eyes from everyone she encounters, the elf chooses instead to keep her line of sight pressed to the ground in front of her, until she spots her companions giving her the first kind glance she’d received since entering the building.

As they approach the rest of their allies, Raine takes a quick note of the book Regal clutched. “That’s written in ancient elven language!” she exclaims, sweeping the lexicon from his hands to hers.

“Well, well, _well!_ What does it say?” Zelos leans in anticipation, waiting for answers of any sort. He was much more _terrified_ than he would readily admit, and the only cure for this unease was a cure for his sickness.

“These are documents about the ancient war, dating up to the world’s separation and the first time Tethe’alla switched the mana flow. This may be exactly what we need.”

Everyone is uneasy as every flip of a page seems to bring less new information than they hoped for.

“Tethe’alla has spent most of its history flourishing, while Sylvarant has been in decline… This has led to the development of more advanced magitechnology in our world.”

_Flip._

“The chosen’s journey is designed to reverse the mana flow between the worlds with each seal unlocked.”

_Flip._

“At each seal, the chosen will sacrifice a piece of their humanity, until they finally give up their life to become an angel.”

The corners of Zelos’ mouth drop into a subtle frown; either he fights back, or he never returns home at all. Nothing about either choice appealed to him, but the _least_ appealing option of all was the final one, in which he complies with the church to be led like a pig to the slaughterhouse, ending up nothing more than an unfeeling vessel for the king of the world.

“The church probably didn’t want to tell me that in case I offed myself before the journey even started. Anything on how to fix it?” After all, it would be far from the first time a chosen ran from the journey, much less took their own life to escape it; perhaps even Zelos' bloodline is that of Tethe’alla’s finest traitors.

_Flip._

“Hmmm. I can’t find anything in the recent documentation, at least. Perhaps if we look back at the ancient war…” Raine’s eyes lock with the same scholar hovering only spitting distance away, and thus, her flicking of pages grows more urgent.

“The documents from the ancient war seem to suggest that a device called a Key crest could contain the disease caused by exspheres and Cruxis crystals.”

“Wait!” Lloyd clenches a fist over his heart, exposing an emerald green exsphere for the party to see. “I’ve used an exsphere my entire life, and I was always told that without a Key crest, it makes you sick. I didn’t realize that’s true for Cruxis crystals too.”

As Lloyd spoke, Zelos’ amplified senses were beginning to bother him-- if he must narrow it down, his ears were ringing from a metallic noise in the distance that only grew more piercing by the minute. This certainly set off warning bells in his mind, but with nothing to quantify it, those bells were all but useless.

Sheena’s eyes flicker to the gem on Lloyd’s hand; aside from the colour, it hardly differed from the stone on Zelos’ chest: something the chosen had taken careful note of as well. “So, if we need a Key crest, where do we get one?

“Well… I don’t really know, actually.” Lloyd scratches his head. “Cruxis always got the dwarves in their service to make them.”

The clinking of metal was now so loud, even those without angelic senses could hear it.

“Crap! Guys! We’ve gotta get _outta here!”_ Zelos shouts as he grips the hilt of his blade. With a series of crashes and bangs, the sources of the repetitive noises were finally revealed: Papal knights-- and an entire swarm of them.

_“That’s them! Those are the wanted half-elves!”_

Knights in leaden armor storm the building with weapons in hand, clearly prepared to take down anyone who stood in their way. Still, the statement of the sergeant came as a surprise; the party knew _intimately_ they were wanted for defying Cruxis, but the _‘half-elves’_ portion was a harsh point of confusion.

“Wait, _half-elves_?” Sheena glances between her companions in confusion.

“The half-elf runaways, _and_ the chosen’s group!? Man, is the Pope _ever_ gonna be happy when we bring him back these guys!”

Everyone is high-strung with proliferating anxieties by now and preparing to engage in combat if they must, but Genis freezes as his body quakes in a _chilling_ rage, inconsolable in nature. By the time he retrieves his kendama, his hands are shaking so strongly, one would think he was about to bare his fists instead.

“You know what? This isn’t our fault, it’s _yours_! I was the perfect student, and you kicked me and my sister out just because we’re half-elves! ” He’s screaming at all the room’s inhabitants now-- Papal knights, academics, scholars, everyone indiscriminately, and his voice sends a series of frigid stings down all of their spines, even those of his friends.

“Genis. We have to go _right now_.” Zelos grabs Genis by the arm, and he slaps the hand away without hesitation.

“ _Don’t_ touch me!” The half-elf’s aura bubbles like ice that burns so strongly, the moment Zelos touched his arm, if he could feel anything at all, it would have bubbled and blistered upon impact. Each snarl is like that of someone unknown-- perhaps the devil himself, if he existed at all. The young boy everyone thought they knew had disappeared, and whatever darkness that lulled in his eyes had taken over instead. 

“You humans, you’re all the same! You talk down to everyone who’s different from you and treat us like dirt, and why!? Why are you so obsessed with _torturing us!?_ ”

The knights begin closing in, and before long, the realization hits that there is no way out.

“Uh, guys, what do we do!?” Lloyd is beginning to panic, as the thought of fighting his way out of this was _far_ from appealing, and more than that, everyone was concerned about Zelos ripping open his wound all over again if he were to try and engage in combat.

Sheena thinks on her feet and within moments, a solution crosses her mind. “Everybody! Over here!” she exclaims before retrieving a single guardian seal hidden within the depths of her pocket.

“Come and take me on! Any of you who want to fight, just try it. I _will_ destroy you!” Genis continues to bellow at the knights before he is swiftly restrained by Regal, who recognizes the situation is escalating and sweeps Genis under his arm like a bat out of hell. He struggles in response, but his slim, meager body is no match for Regal’s strength.

“Alright guys, just trust me on this, okay?” The summoner is frantic as an incantation is cast; in a flash of smoke billowing throughout the room, all six fugitives are out of sight, and they can only hope they will soon be out of mind as the Papal knights dart around the room in confusion. When the smoke subsides, the chosen’s group are nowhere to be found.

“After them!”

“But where did they go!?”

_“Search the city!”_

The knights scatter, and thanks to a healthy dose of chaos, the getaway goes off without a hitch.

//

“What the _hell_ was that!?” Zelos exclaims, desperately waving ripples of smoke out of his face.

Sheena frowns, keeping her eyes peeled for any stray knights who may be searching for them as they speak. “A guardian seal. It’s handy for getting out of places when you’re in a pinch, but I didn’t expect to use one on this journey, that’s for sure.”

“Not just that, I mean… _all_ of it! Now we’re not just wanted for ditching the journey, we’re wanted for harboring criminals, too! Man, the chicks are _never_ gonna look at me now…”

Sheena exhales deeply, allowing the tenacity between the six heroes to return full-force. The moment her breath returns, she faces the chosen and says “Zelos, you’re an _idiot_ , you know that?”

Upon examining their surroundings, it was clear that the runaways were now far enough from the academic city that they could, at the very least, buy some time. 

“We should set up a campsite in Gaoracchia Forest for the night. Perhaps that would allow us an opportunity to debrief.” Regal’s statement was agreed upon by everyone-- save for the only person who did not have to worry about sleeping in the first place. This time, _he_ was the one outnumbered.

Genis had simmered from blind rage into muted catatonia, leaving both the half-elves dead silent: a fact that Lloyd takes quick mental note of immediately. Upon realizing they won’t speak up, he speaks in their place. 

“The papal knights probably won’t find us in the forest.”

“Yeah, and _we’ll_ never find our way out!” the chosen exclaims, yet again disregarding the tense, heightened tone of his surroundings in favour of his foolish antics. After all, as he has so _graciously_ learned, the more he deflects his own feelings, the less likely it is that anyone will try to look for them through the bullshit. Whatever hides under the mask is a problem for _Zelos Wilder_ , and _Zelos Wilder_ alone.

Lloyd is frowning, and Zelos can tell he’s ready to put up a fight. “What other choice do we have right now?”

“Yeah, yeah.” The list of places to run was so small now, it was nonexistent. Had they realized this sooner, perhaps they could have avoided the chaos in Sybak. As such, with nothing left to lose, the companions descend upon the endless woods.

“Sorry for dragging you into this, Regal. I know you’re here in the first place because you wanted to atone and all.” It is clear as the light of day that Zelos is ignoring the most pressing issue in the room, to nobody’s delight-- not even his _own._

The fire crackles, breaking the empty spaces between each clause. “There is nothing to apologize for. I was sent to atone by helping the chosen save the world. Perhaps this will happen on your terms rather than those of Cruxis.”

“Raine, Genis. Are you guys okay?” Sheena’s tone is sympathetic, and she sends a deathly glare in the chosen’s direction that speaks _‘you are completely,_ positively, _unbelievable’_ in tone alone.

“The knights are right. We’re half elves, and we hid it. But I don’t think that makes us criminals.” Genis never once looks up from the ground as he speaks, and his self-defeat radiates into a plague that everyone around him can feel. Before long, everything is cold and frigid again-- always a sign that it was time for Zelos to put _one foot in front of the other_ and _run_.

Lloyd then glances at Raine; he had a question burning in his mind even before the incident at the library, and until he spoke it into existence, he knew the flames would not stop. 

“Say, Raine, how do you know how to read and speak the ancient elven language? I thought that nobody spoke it anymore, except for the elders in Heimdall.”

“Genis and I grew up in Heimdall, actually-- with our elven mother. I was taught the language before the elders learned of our blood. Eventually, we were chased out, and our mother enrolled us in the academy under the guise that we were full-blooded elves. I’m sure you can imagine what happened after that.”

Lloyd’s brows turn upward, a sympathetic sadness radiating in expression alone. “Wow. It sounds like you guys have really been through a lot.”

“Now that you guys know we’re half elves… are you still okay with us coming with you? I want to change the world, make it a better place for half-elves. I think I can do that if we go with you.” Genis is kind, but firm, and he hopes with everything in his being that the answer is _‘yes’_ , because there were no remaining options otherwise. It was only a matter of time before the Papal knights tracked them down once more, and from there, their fate was nothing short of a life doomed to research labs, never to see each other’s faces again.

Lloyd nods. “I’ve spent my entire life around half-elves, and it doesn't bother me. I think you guys could be a real help to us. I mean, you have been already, anyway.”

Regal and Sheena both quickly join in the nods of agreement. “Of course, that’s fine!”

By the time everyone peers at Zelos, he reclines with his hands behind his head, aloof as always. “Not sure I'm cool with this. Gonna have to think about it.” Brows drooping, he knew all-too-well that he would be the minority on this issue, and was he _ever_.

Genis’ gaze turns ice-cold as he raises it from the ground and glares directly at the chosen. “Fine. Go _think about it_ , then.”

“ _Sure thing_ , then.” Zelos stands and turns to leave, his energy hardened and impenetrable; at this point, he no longer has the energy for a witty remark. Instead, he takes all that energy and walks away.

//

Zelos could not see the stars through the thick overhang of trees, and instead, he took to watching tiny insects dance across the dirt pathways of the forest. An onyx beetle scuttles across his vision, the shine of its shell visible even in darkness. _‘Used to hate these little assholes, now I'm almost fond of ‘em…’_

Imminent footsteps cause the small beetle to scurry away. 

“Hey. Zelos.”

To his displeasure, he looks up to see Lloyd standing over him. “What do you want? I told you guys, I’m thinkin’.”

Lloyd frowns. “I thought maybe I could help you think.”

“Nah. I’m good.”

“Okay, then. I want to know what your issue with half-elves is. Can you at least talk to me about _that?_ ” His frustration is growing obvious, much like Zelos’ disdain for visitors during his ‘ _me_ ’ time.

A shrug. “That’s just how Tethe’alla is. Humans are at the top, half-elves are at the bottom. Elves are just wherever, doing their own thing. It is what it is.”

“It doesn’t have to be that way, though. I learned when I was really young to respect half-elves, because there were so many in Cruxis.”

The chosen raises an eyebrow, his grin catty and contrived. “Dude, you grew up in a cult. I don’t really think you’re one to talk about _oh-so-inclusive_ childhoods.”

Lloyd’s frown deepens, and he exhales as he takes a seat next to Zelos on the ground. Perhaps this could be an opportunity to get to know the chosen more, he thinks-- perhaps _not_ as well, but the least he could do was try.

“You’re right. Cruxis raised me as a soldier. It was endless training, day in and day out, until the day I would oversee the world regeneration.”

“Great. Now I guess we’re sitting here talking about our childhoods. Woe is me!” wiping an imaginary tear from his eyes, Zelos’ words are flippant and terribly dismissive. Not that Lloyd had expected much from a spitfire like Zelos to begin with.

The brunette glares. “I grew up in the city of angels, Welgaia. I never knew my mother. Never had any friends. I was taught to wield swords by my father and one of the other seraphim, Yuan-- who I guess after everything I’ve seen is a traitor, too.”

“Say, I’m curious. What’s the Yggdrasill guy all about? I mean, if he wants my body, he’s _obviously_ got good taste.”

Ignoring the oh-so-witty comment that trailed on the end of Zelos’ question, Lloyd shrugs. “I never knew much of him. He was cold and distant. I only ever saw him occasionally, and even though my father was one of the higher-ups, I got treated just like another one of the subordinates.” After a subtle pause, he continues.

“Anyway, I don’t really know why I’m telling you all this. You’re probably not a big fan of me after everything I put you through, and I couldn’t blame you.”

“Nah. I get it. You were deceived. Can’t really do much about that.” Zelos shakes his head. “That’s all pretty sad for you, though-- your childhood and stuff.”

A sheepish grin extends across Lloyd’s face as he runs a hand through scruffy hair. “Eh, you really think so?”

“Of course. Not everyone can have hot chicks going after them from the day they’re born!”

Lloyd’s grin disappears. “Well, did _you?_ ” This may be his opportunity to break beneath the superficial surface being touted as Zelos Wilder, and he’ll be damned if he didn’t take it.

The chosen laughs. “Well, _obviously!_ Everybody wants you when you’re the chosen. But normally, it’s only _because_ you’re the chosen. Then you just roll with it.”

Lloyd adopts a subtle grin as the realization dawns on him that he truly might have just tricked the great Zelos Wilder himself into talking about _feelings_ . That was certainly a first in their friendship-- if he could _call_ it friendship at this point. _‘Acquaintances’_ was a far more appropriate term.

“Being the chosen sounds like it must have been pretty bittersweet for you, then.”

“Anybody I wanted, I could probably get ‘em. But you don’t get let down if ya don’t let anybody in. It’s always better that way, anyway.” He twirls a curly, red lock of hair around his index finger as another onyx beetle scurries by.

Lloyd twists his head to the side, allowing vagrant strands of mousy brown hair to drift across his face. “What do you mean by that?” 

“Better watch what you say here, Mr. _‘I can eat, sleep, and feel’_ . I just mean my life’s a joke, that’s all.” 

Twenty-two years of repression were threatening to spill out of his mouth in just one, simple conversation, and Zelos can hardly believe that some ex-Cruxis idiot he had only known for mere _days_ was the cause of it all. Somehow, Lloyd had a way of tearing down barriers with his innocent idealism and valor, and much to Zelos’ surprise, as much as he didn’t want it to, it was even working on _him._

A tense silence follows, but a kind of silence that lacks any sort of awkward clumsiness; a pause in suffocating constriction, if nothing else. 

“I know we can find a way for you to live a life of your own, free of being the chosen.” Lloyd says, at long last.

“Y’know, if you really must know some of my _oh-so-tragic_ backstory. My mother was killed by a half-elf. The magic that killed her was meant for me, all because of my chosen status.”

 _‘Hmm.’_ “So, is that why you dislike half-elves?”

A shrug followed by silence, followed then by a nod as well. “You could say that. But I also know that it’s not every single half-elf’s fault that my life’s all screwed up. It’s all just another one of those small tragedies, man. Between that and the climate in this world, it’s hard for me to get past how I was raised and all.”

“Raine and Genis, they’ve been your friends for a while. You must be able to tell by now that they’re nothing like the half-elf who murdered your mother.”

Zelos returns a one-sided grin. “Man. I’m surprised by your way with words. I’d almost think you were trying to seduce me, bud.”

Lloyd’s palm collides directly with his face in embarrassment. “Get outta here with that, Zelos. I already said I’m just here to help you process your thoughts.”

“Ha. But the way I’ve talked to you tonight, can’t say I’ve done a lot of that before.”

Lloyd glances at the man next to him. “You’re allowed to let people in, Zelos. There’s a difference between being independent, isolating yourself, and accepting loneliness as just being the way that things are.”

“Wow, bud. You sure are smart, aren’t ya?” His voice is sly and _impossible_ to read-- as such, Lloyd could not gauge the genuineness of the response and reacted as if clear-cut banter.

“Oh, come _on!_ I thought we were friends now!”

“Argh, fine. I guess we’re friends. I just don’t normally make friends with _dudes ._ ” Or anyone at all, really. He couldn’t even call his _companions_ friends at this point.

“Well, if you’re gonna call me ‘bud’, what do I call you, then?”

The chosen shakes his head, and his grin is as difficult to decipher as ever. “Sorry. I don’t do nicknames.”

“What, so you get to call me bud and I can’t say anything back!? Fine then. I’m going to bed anyway.” Lloyd found a smooth spot on the ground nearby, a perfect bed for those who still possessed the ability to sleep. The two men were not far from the rest of their group, and Zelos couldn’t help but wonder why Lloyd had chosen to rest here, of all places. Even more than that, he had no idea what compelled him to lie on his back next to the brunette and observe the sunbeams streaming through the trees.

He couldn’t feel it, but somehow, laying next to Lloyd and feeling _safe_ was better than any of the meaningless, numb fucks with people who couldn’t have cared any _less_ about him. He disregards this in its entirety, because in his mind, Zelos Wilder flirts, fucks, and philanders, but his heart is made of stone.

//

“Man, how’d I end up all the way out here…? Everybody else is way back in the other direction.” Lloyd rubs his eyes and lifts himself off the ground, careful to avoid insects scurrying across the forest floor.

Zelos, by then, had moved across the pathway and sat with his modest notepad open. Pen scribbled viciously to paper as he jotted word after word, something Lloyd took note of immediately. Instead, Zelos grinned.

“You passed right out last night, bud. It was pretty funny. Was thinking of drawing on your face or somethin’.” The very-most tip of the chosen’s pen flew over his papers, of which he had not looked up from _once_ since Lloyd’s awakening.

The brunette brings a hand up to his cheek, wiping away any stray dirt or residue from the forest floor that had been left behind from the night before. Perhaps checking for any ink on his face as well-- Zelos called Lloyd his _'friend'_ , but Lloyd still wouldn't put it past him to do something so tongue-in-cheek. 

“Speaking of that, what are you writing?”

“You asked yesterday what my favourite book was. Honestly, since I'm such a soft, _sensitive_ chosen, I’m more of a _poetry_ guy myself.” Zelos tears the sheet of paper from the book’s spine, folds it in half, and places it in Lloyd’s hand.

“This one’s my favourite. It’s called _‘Twenty-first, Night, Monday’_. You should read it sometime.”

Lloyd retrieves the tiny sheet between two fingers and tucks it into his pocket. “Huh. I’ve never heard of it before.”

“Of course you haven’t. Now, let’s go, eh? I’ve got something I need to handle.” The chosen walks into the distance, leaving Lloyd to cry “H-hey! Wait for me!” and come running behind him.

By the time Zelos and Lloyd return to the campsite, everyone is beginning to pack their bags and discuss prospective next steps. Genis’ energy changes once he spots Zelos coming back down the trail with Lloyd in his stead, and his glare, much like everything else about him, is once again frigid in nature.

“Well, _Chosen one?_ Have you decided whether we _half-elves_ are allowed to join you?” The silver-haired boy snarls, enough to freeze even the hottest spells.

Zelos is solemn, but before he speaks, he glances at Lloyd.

“Actually,” his voice quivers in unfamiliar ways as he begins his sentence, but steadily, it draws more valiant with each word that leaves his mouth. “I’d like it if you joined us.”

Genis lets his guard drop and his anger washes away.

“Thank you, Zelos.”

While the rest of the party exchange pleasantries and superficial chatter, Lloyd reaches into his pocket and retrieves the note Zelos scribbled with haste earlier that morning. Unfolding the paper, he deciphers the chosen’s erratic handwriting and soaks up every word written before him.

_Twenty-first. Night. Monday.  
_

_Silhouette of the capitol in darkness.  
_

_Some good-for-nothing -- who knows why--_

_made up the tale that love exists on earth._

_People believe it, maybe from laziness_

_or boredom, and live accordingly:_

_they wait eagerly for meetings, fear parting,_

_and when they sing, they sing about love._

_But the secret reveals itself to some,_

_and on them silence settles down..._

_I found this out by accident_

_and now it seems I'm sick all the time._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poem referenced at the end of this chapter is actually one of my favourite poems ever- it’s by a poet named Anna Akhmatova who is absolutely amazing. Lots of poetry references in this fic, but if you only check out one, look into Akhmatova's stuff.
> 
> [Click here for my commentary on this chapter- brags, regrets, and trivia!](https://twitter.com/flambydelrabies/status/1293724780370198529)


	5. Claws of Human Nature

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of the lore about the chosen system that isn’t outright featured in the game is taken from the taleslations tumblr page about it. As much as I wish I could say I'm that creative, I can’t take credit for it.  
> Apologies for updating a day later than promised; neither me nor my beta took Easter Sunday into account.  
> Commentary now available in the end notes.

_“Once I was beautiful. Now I am myself.”_

_\- Anne Sexton_

//

It feels like a shard of glass had been wedged directly between Lloyd’s ribs with each breath he takes.

Considering that their objective had not even been solidified yet beyond _‘save the world, save Zelos’,_ as the six adventurers traverse through the endless woods of Gaoracchia Forest, there was hardly a true plan in place. With the targets on their backs and knowledge that he was the only one aware of Cruxis’ haphazard cruelties, Lloyd feared the consequences of continuing to stagnate. The only lead they had was the knowledge that a key crest could contain the chosen’s sickness, and still, nothing about saving the two worlds from their fate of waxing and waning into infinity.

Ultimately, they had decided as a group to head in the direction of Ozette with the cursory knowledge that many skilled craftsmen made a home of the city, and that was good enough. When he thinks about the possibility of Cruxis catching them while off-guard and underprepared, Lloyd feels as though he’s about to spit the glass fragments trapped in his chest onto the ground in front of him.

Before his fears can eat him alive, the introspection is snipped short with a pair ribbon-tied scissors by Zelos’ rowdy, tumultuous voice. 

“Why so _glum_ , chum?”

“Ah, you know. Everything’s gonna be fine, I’m sure. I just think we should try to get to Ozette as fast as possible before anyone catches up to us.”

Zelos’ angelic senses were twinging, clearly alerting him to danger in the area; he couldn’t tell what, but something was decidedly _off_ . Instead, he ignores it in silence on principle of _‘out of sight, out of mind’_ , and a lopsided smirk crawls across his face, never once faker.

“Well, lighten up, eh, bud? You’ll never get any chicks if you keep walking around with a frown like that.”

 _Deflect, deflect, deflect_ , and here they were, both doing so in glaringly different ways.

Lloyd glowers at Zelos in exasperation. “ _Thanks for that_ , Zel.”

“ _Zel?_ Really!?” He laughs, allowing his head to dip back in amusement. “I already told you, I don’t do nicknames.”

“He does respond to _‘idiot chosen’_ , though.” Sheena says with a smirk to match the chosen’s, and now even Lloyd is chuckling too.

In his own world where the only senses he has left were more of a _bother_ than anything else, Zelos could place the sense as being a smell, and it only grew stronger the further they continued out of the forest. Now _that_ was a _bother_.

“Say,” Zelos pauses, eyes turning to slits. “Anybody else here smell smoke, or is it just me?”

Lloyd inhales, then shrugs; he was far more concerned about Cruxis than about any other hazards for the time being. Naiveté at its finest.

“Nah, I think it’s just you.”

“Uh, Lloyd?” Genis speaks with bemusement, gesturing to the overhang of branches that grew thinner as the party progressed. A scowl and a sigh escape his lips as he snarls “I hate to say it, but for once, it’s _not_ just you, Zelos.”

The closer the six companions were to being out of the forest and into the field, the more they could see the air above had been polluted with thick smog, clouding their vision and coiling throughout the sky. This time, however, the smoke was not from a Mizuho-born incantation, but the ways in which flickers of light were skittering upon the horizon could only mean--

_Fire._

“You’ve gotta be kidding me! That’s the direction of Ozette!”

Lloyd gasps as he sets his sights on what only could have been a burning village in the distance-- considering the direction the burning embers flew, it only could have _been_ Ozette. “ _What!?_ What’s going on!?”

The fire devastates the city, _twisting, turning, burning,_ and _crackling_ , and as it spreads through each window and corner, the smoke billowing from the distance began to burn their throats in the same ways the quivering flames ravaged Ozette. There was hardly even a fleeting opportunity to process the situation, because the more things change, the more they _spiral out of control_ as a man in buckled garb erupts from that same, ravenous fog.

Shock, horror, pain, and _ire_ all meld together into one careless mish-mash of emotion, and Lloyd can’t tell whether making out the face of the man in the distance has caused the shards of glass under his ribs to expel or to only sink deeper.

“Dad! What are you doing here!?” Lloyd cries, preparing himself to reach for his dual blades should the situation deem it necessary. The brunette’s knee-jerk reaction tips the rest of the party off to the fact that the man had to be an enemy-- a soldier of Cruxis, no less, and they react on that principle alone.

Raine grips her wooden battle staff so tightly, her previously-pale knuckles were now white. “Was this destruction Cruxis’ doing!?”

Kratos stops exactly fifteen feet away from his son, hand resting firmly on the hilt of his sabre.

“Perhaps if you’d followed our orders and returned to Cruxis, this city would not have fallen into destruction.”

Six sharply drawn breaths echo in unison. There was so much pressure, smog, and _hostility_ radiating through the area, it was even unclear who it was that cried “You destroyed the city just to stop us from making a key crest!?”

“You must understand that the angel transformation is a vital piece in carrying out Lord Yggdrasill’s plans, and that any foolish choice you make has consequences. This pertains not just to you, Lloyd, but to your companions as well.”

Gritting his teeth, Zelos looks Kratos in the eye with an implacable gaze. “Well, how about you at least _tell me_ what those plans are then, considering I’m such a _vital_ part of them?”

“Then I shall,” Kratos speaks. The chosen had no idea how the angel of Cruxis’ eyes could be so animated and void of life at exactly the same time, almost as if he were the worst kind of undead: one who has lost their will to live, yet continues anyway. A state Zelos had spent his life existing in; he couldn’t tell you when it had all went wrong, but he could certainly say he had no idea when it had been right to begin with. At least Zelos still had an obligation to fill, prolonging his lifespan until completion; Kratos had _no_ excuse.

“The world was split in two by Lord Yggdrasill in order to facilitate the revival of the Goddess Martel-- sister to Lord Yggdrasill himself. He plans to create a world in which everyone is the same race through the use of exspheres, and thus, a world free of discrimination, where Yggdrasill and Martel can live forever.”

Lloyd clenches his fist, knowing in his heart that if he initiates a fight here, then he is doing nothing more than provoking Cruxis further. “How is that supposed to stop discrimination!?”

The frown crossing Zelos’ mouth becomes more pronounced as he gives all of this absolute _lunacy_ an audience. “And, what does this have to do with the chosen system?”

“It is of the belief that by eliminating differences, we will then eliminate discrimination.” 

Kratos then turns to the chosen, his stare as empty as the _nothingness_ that still pulsates through Zelos’ veins.

“I trust you are aware by now that Lord Yggdrasill is in need of a new vessel. The oracle is timed in a way that allows for Tethe’alla’s chosen to be presented as a vessel for Yggdrasill, while Sylvarant’s belongs to Martel once the need for a new body arises.” He pauses, taking heavy note of the appalled facial expressions of Lloyd and his friends before carrying on.

“Seventy years ago, Sylvarant completed the world regeneration ritual, and Martel refused to accept the vessel presented to her. Fifteen years ago, Chosen, your father refused to accept the task that was presented to _him_ , and we require you to fill his role instead.”

The glow of fire in the distance was beginning to subside, leaving behind crackling embers and remnants of buildings that once stood tall. The amount of sheer devastation they had seen unfold before them was grim, horrifically so-- and in stark contrast to mere moments before, a blinding white light sparked bright enough to engulf the eyesight of everyone in the vicinity one the count of three.

_One Martel, two Martel, three Martel--_

“Kratos, I will take it from here.”

As the light subsides, the party find themselves face-to-face with none other than Lord Yggdrasill himself and Remiel, angel of judgment, standing at his side.

“You all have some nerve, trying to defy the organization that runs the world itself.” Yggdrasill’s words are malevolent and spiteful, as one could only expect from the man who created this twisted world.

Zelos examines the slender man up-and-down, taking careful note of his unexpected _(perhaps, even unusual)_ appearance. He certainly didn’t look like a ruthless overlord, but more than that, he didn’t look _sick_ in the least.

“Kratos, retrieve the chosen. It seems we have no further choice but to restrain him and _drag_ him to the seal by rope, as we have done with the other _failures_ of Chosen in the past.”

The seraphim with thick, copper hair and emptiness in his eyes advances, his sabre gripped tightly enough to kill: Zelos could tell by his posture, his blade, and even his mere aura that he _could_ if he so chose to.

All the while, Remiel’s wings flutter to a close and he steps to the ground beside his leader; he turns to Yggdrasill as the other seraphim pursues the party on foot.

“Lord Mithos, what do you request of me?”

In seconds, _everyone_ stops as the most gruesome noise they’d ever heard emanates throughout the air. _Squirming_ , like insects crawling between organs, _squelching_ , like viscera cupped between two hands and squeezed. Not only was the noise blood-curdling, but as Lloyd turned on his heels, the sight of Remiel on the ground with a spear of molten light pierced directly through his chest was even more _horrifying_.

“That name is not yours to use.” 

Each one of Zelos’ companions is mortified as Yggdrasill stands over Remiel’s lifeless body, both of their faces equally unfeeling and expressionless-- the only difference between the two of them being that one was _still alive_.

“Yggdrasill! How could you do this!?” Lloyd shouts with all his dwindling might. In response, the slender, dispassionate man merely smirks.

“You know, Lloyd. With your training, I hoped that you would take his place one day, so that you may be the one to oversee each chosen’s journey at my side for all of eternity. Remiel was growing more useless by the day.”

While the heroes were stunned, the two seraphim had the upper hand; Kratos raises his blade once more, his feet making the same _pitter-patter_ against the smooth pathway that Lloyd was all-too familiar with.

“Lloyd,” Kratos’ sword collides with Lloyd’s dual blades, and he speaks each word in between strikes. “Did I not tell you I wouldn’t hesitate next time?”

Genis begins casting an arcane arte, causing the entire field to pulsate with magic-- he almost feared illuminating the embers of the city once more. A Thunder Blade cuts the field between the father-and-son swordsmen in two, causing Kratos to skip backwards, giving his son the opportunity to charge with vengeance.

“Yeah, and _I_ said _I_ wouldn’t hesitate, either!”

Yggdrasill takes this opportunity to teleport in front of the chosen in flicker of light-- one that must have lasted for only a nanosecond, at most. In Zelos' mind, it could only get worse from here.

“Now, chosen, I believe that _you_ belong to _me_.”

_Oh, how it got worse._

Raising his sword, Zelos shakes his head, allowing for crimson locks to fall in front of his face in the process. “Sorry, but my body is mine, you bastard!”

Despite Raine’s proficiency in healing, Zelos was, admittedly, still recovering from the near-fatal wound that Lloyd dealt him. Unfortunately, lacking the ability to feel any physical sensation did not allow for warnings of overexertion, much as he had learned during that _very same_ fight; there was a genuine fear in his mind of ripping the gash open all over again if he defended himself. As such, being face-to-face with someone who wanted to take him alive was _terrifying_ in every way he could still feel.

Whenever Zelos’ body gave any tells of giving out, Raine took the opportunity to cast her spells from a safe distance away-- thankfully, this was enough for him to defend against the onslaught from Yggdrasill himself, at least for the time being. Right now, the focus was on staying alive. It had never been about _winning,_ only _prolonging_.

The battle rages on between the seraphim and those who sought to change their ways, with each party member fighting diligently so as not to be captured by Cruxis; that would surely mean death, and for Zelos, a fate _far worse_ than that.

“That’s enough. I tire of this,” Yggdrasill’s words drag at the end of each syllable, before snatching Zelos’ arm with constriction nearly tight enough to break it.

Zelos’ eyes grow as wide as his vast ability to fake confidence, and right now he can’t even begin to pretend, because there is genuinely _no way out_ this time.

“What the hell are you doing!?” Zelos snarls. The grip around his arm does not loosen-- on the contrary, it only grows tighter. He didn’t plan to die here. He’d fight back, if he could. If he was going to die, it was to be on _his own terms_ \-- Zelos would settle for nothing less.

Still, Yggdrasill smirks, a sly, _shit-eating_ smile identical to the one the chosen had splayed over his own face more often than he didn't. 

“I’m taking what’s rightfully mine, of course.”

With his movement restrained, the overlord is nearly able to toss Zelos around like a feeble, red-headed ragdoll in his current state. After all, his strongest--and sometimes _only_ \--abilities in battle revolve around speed, and when restricted by one known for their strength, there was little he could do to fight back. Not that he could feel it anymore, by any means. The only thing it changed was that Zelos would far sooner snap his own arm off than be caught in Yggdrasill’s bear-trap teeth and then brought to his death. Break his own limbs to escape, just the same way animals do when caught beyond their control. Maybe he really wasn’t human anymore, after all.

After a one-sided power struggle between the two men, Yggdrasill grabs the chosen by the rose-red hair and drags his body directly into his; as their bodies collide, their Cruxis crystals fit together like two pieces of a puzzle. Anyone else, and it might even have been _romantic_. Instead, knowing the fate of the chosen, it was nothing short of tragic.

Joined in a malignant embrace, both the angel and the runaway’s bodies pulsate in unison until their vision turns to black, then to _red_.

 _‘_ You’re _mine.’_

Sheer pressure reverbs in shades of crimson red-- a heartbeat that rang through all of their senses, strong enough for even Zelos to feel. Then, after that, _nothing._

After seconds of throbbing eyes and heartbeats drumming in tune, reality comes crashing back down around Zelos that he was alive and he was _here_ , wherever that may be. Breaking from the grasp at last, it felt like hours had passed, but it only had to have been minutes-- seconds, even. The rest of the party were so busy fending off Kratos’ vicious onslaught that it seemed they neglected to keep an eye on the chosen, who clearly needed the backup most.

Zelos finds himself so dumbfounded by his encounter with Yggdrasill that he stops to stare at the slender man with pupils dilated and hands dropped to his side. Even his trusty blade was strewn on the ground, and he had no idea when he would have dropped it in the first place. Moments later, a series of light spears are pointed directly at Zelos’ neck, and still, he does not move.

 _‘Hmm… I will admit that this was not the ideal outcome.’_ Yggdrasill’s voice rings loud and clear, curiously so.

“Yeah. Guess I’m a goner, huh?” he pauses, taking careful note of the fact that Yggdrasill had not once opened his mouth. Scrunching his brows, confusion rings through Zelos’ mind, and suddenly he has no idea what the _hell_ is going on. _‘Wait, what?’_

Yggdrasill lowers his sharp, daunting spears of light, squinting with apprehension, of all things. An unusual look for one who acted as high-and-mighty as he did. _‘I’ll admit that I’m currently wondering the same thing you are.’_

 _‘Wait a minute. I’m not speaking. You’re not speaking. But still, I can hear you. What the_ hell _did you do, Yggdrasill?’_

The jaded leader of Cuxis frowns, lowering his arms to his sides. _‘I would assume I attempted the mana transfer prematurely, and as such, it failed and left us with whatever this is. You haven’t completed the angel transformation, which seems to have created some sort of shared consciousness instead.’_

 _‘Great going. So we’re stuck together then. What the hell do we do then, Mr. Big, bad Cruxis?’_ Zelos crosses his arms in disbelief.

_‘I will tell you what, chosen. I’ll declare a truce and help you get a Key crest, so long as you tell absolutely no-one about this. Otherwise, I hope you’re not too attached to that sister of yours.’_

_‘Fine, I’ll accept, then.’_ The chosen’s glare could _kill_ , and my, how he wanted to after hearing a threat like that. _‘Weren’t you trying not to let this exact thing happen, though? Man, you guys sure haven’t thought this stuff through.’_

 _‘A Key crest will control the angel transformation, and in theory, it will force our minds apart. Believe me when I say I do_ not _want this any more than you do. Once we capture you, we will simply remove it.’_

The clang of weapons in the background cuts the tension between the two men, who stand several feet apart scowling daggers at each other, their lips ever unmoving.

_‘Does this mean you just burned that city to a crisp for no reason, then?’_

Yggdrasill raises a single eyebrow. _‘You would not understand, but there are times sacrifices must be made.’_ Turning to the seraphim behind him, he bellows “Kratos, We must leave,” as shimmering wings erupt from his back, much like the ones Zelos kept hidden at all costs.

Zelos had no idea he could fundamentally _hate_ someone _so much_.

“Yes, Lord Yggdrasill.” Kratos is obedient to a fault as he steps out of battle and sheathes his weapon. Joining his leader by his side, there is no sense of self left in his eyes; he is simply Kratos of the Four Seraphim and Mithos’ right hand.

“H-hey! Where are you guys going!?” Sheena cries as the angels begin to teleport away in a blaze of radiant light.

Yggdrasill faces the party, confident, but still collected. Zelos scowls. “Next time we meet, I swear, _I will kill you all_.” The fluorescence grows ever brighter, and in the time it took to blink, the seraphim are gone.

“Well, that was certainly… sudden.” Raine’s words are short, but she was undeniably correct. Not all angels are righteous, valiant, or even _polite_. If all angels were like the ones they’d met, Zelos would far rather go to hell.

Her brother sighs, sharp and suddenly. “We just got our asses kicked by two guys. This sucks.”

“One thing is certain,” scorn creeps through Lloyd’s body as he becomes more jaded with Cruxis’ ways by the day. “We can’t just keep letting Cruxis do whatever they want. We have to stop them. After seeing all the death and destruction today, I know that there has to be a way to save everyone and make sure nobody has to be sacrificed.”

“I believe in those ideals, Lloyd.” Regal nods, causing everyone else to bob their heads in return.

 _‘And what do you think, Zelos?’_ Yggdrasill’s words are certainly smug, and with their telepathic connection, it was almost as though no matter how far they were from each other, the world’s ruler was still hovering over Zelos’ shoulder.

“After everything I saw today, I have to say i’m with you folks on this one. We gotta stop Cruxis.”

 _‘Wrong answer.’_ It was almost as though he could feel the overlord’s glare from eons away burning directly into his skull. Even if he couldn’t feel it in any physical sense, it was so profound, it was easy to fill in the blanks with his vivid imagination. 

“We’ve been through a lot today. Let’s go to Mizuho to rest. It’s just a mile’s walk away from here.” Sheena was confident that they were still welcome in the city, even if only due to her presence. The use of their information network may prove to be beneficial to finding a way to save the two worlds as well-- after all, it had already helped them once before by drawing out their half-elf companions.

The party’s aim may be to take down the cruel reign of Cruxis and find a way to save everyone, but none of that changes the fact that people of Ozette are now dead who _shouldn’t be_ , and it’s because of _them_.

Each hero is silent as they cross the field to the hidden village, but none of them feel like heroes after the carnage they witnessed and the hand that they played in it. Before leaving, Zelos stands over the body of the fallen angel caked in crimson blood, and all he can think is that the person who enacted such ruthless cruelty was the person whose vessel he was born to become.

Just when he thought he could never despise anyone more than himself.

 _‘So, your_ real _name is Mithos, huh? Like_ Mithos the hero _, or what? You don’t_ seem _heroic to me.’_

The other man’s tone is piercing, like that of a dagger dragging across linoleum. _‘I suppose people will define that term differently. No matter how you choose to see it, chosen, I was a hero once. Now, I will only allow my former companions to call me by that name.’_

 _‘I’m gonna call you Mithos anyways, then. What are ya gonna do, kill me?’_ Zelos chuckles under his breath, exhaling a light pant of resentment.

Yggdrasill-- now _Mithos_ , at least to Zelos-- considers the chosen little more than a nuisance. 

_‘No, but I can make your life hell.’_

_‘Heh. I thought we’d just called a truce.’_ The redhead’s voice is less of an airy exhale and more of an outright, audible chuckle now as he begins to lose grip on the fact that _nobody else_ can hear the angel’s words.

 _‘I did call a truce.’_ Mithos is clearly becoming increasingly more aggravated by the minute. _‘You would be wise not to provoke me.’_

The real, tangible world falls back into place when the silence is broken by Sheena’s concern, and more than that, _confusion_. 

“What are you laughing at, Zelos?”

Zelos’ sly chuckle reverted back to the dishonorable frown he’d worn across his face since the burning of Ozette. If he was going to manage through his _hopefully brief_ shared consciousness with Mithos until he found a Key crest, it was going to be _gut-wrenching_ to keep it hidden around his companions. Even the thought made Zelos’ useless stomach churn.

“Nah, nothing-- don’t worry about it, Sheena. Just laughing at the absurdity of this all, I suppose.” He swipes a lock of rose-tinted hair out of his face before following in the summoner’s wake as she leads them to her hometown. He may have visited there before, but half of the group certainly hadn’t, and he didn’t know the route well enough to lead them himself.

_‘Very nice deflection, Zelos. I’d even say that was the first smart decision you’ve made in quite some time.’_

The chosen does not once look up from the ground as the grass _crunch, crunch, crunch_ es under his feet. _‘I should be so lucky to get away from you.’_

Mithos laughs with an inconsiderate mirth on the tip of his tongue. _‘Believe me when I say I think the same of you.’_

//

Arrival back at Mizuho’s Inn sparks a murky sense of nostalgia in Zelos’s mind-- nostalgia for a time that was not terribly long ago, but so much _simpler._ How he wished he could return to the naivety of thinking the journey really did save the world, rather than cycle mana between the two worlds endlessly until his inevitable sacrifice. Rinse and repeat with the next chosen unlucky enough to follow. Maybe the process of regenerating the world was the same process that made martyrs.

“Are you okay, Zelos?” 

The chosen swivels in his chair while resting his feet one-after-the-other on the table in front of him, choosing to face Lloyd instead. “Yeah, just peachy. Why, what’s up, bud?”

A shrug. “It’s just weird for you to be so quiet. You must have a lot on your mind.”

Piping up from across the room, Sheena’s spirited voice is overrun with exasperation. “Yeah, you haven’t gotten on my nerves _once_ since we left the forest.”

Genis’ arm waves above his head nonchalantly. “ _Seconded_.”

“Ah, thank you, everyone! I always love a warm reminder of how much my companions love me!” Zelos stands on two feet and turns to head upstairs, but not before blowing a kiss to his so-called _audience_ . Sleep was out of the question for him, but perhaps some solitude could be achieved; at least, as much solitude as possible when his brain is melded into someone else’s. Notably, someone who was being _surprisingly quiet_.

“Hey, Zelos. Can I join you?” Lloyd nearly jumps onto his feet, causing the chosen himself to turn and give him a flighty glance.

_‘Lloyd certainly seems to be fond of you.’_

And-- _‘Dammit’_. The moment Zelos was starting to appreciate the peace and quiet was the same moment Mithos’ catty, degrading voice returned. Not only that, but holding two conversations at the same time felt nothing short of impossible.

Finally, Zelos’ eyes lock with Lloyd’s and the chosen frowns. “Yeah, yeah. You can join me if you want. Just gimmie a minute for some of my _‘me’_ time, will ya?”

As the chosen ascends the stairs, Lloyd’s eyes dart around the room with inquisition. He was finally starting to decipher Zelos’ self-imposed, self-regulating system: act out until everyone pushes him away, isolate until someone reaches out, deflect by fooling around, and the cycle repeats endlessly.

Lloyd wouldn’t be able to tell you why if you asked him, but he was determined to be the one to break that cycle.

//

Despite expecting a swift knock on the door, Zelos still becomes startled out of examining the ceiling’s every nook and cranny the moment he hears each tap resonate down to the frame. “That you, bud?”

The door creaks. “Can I come in?”

“Sure thing.” 

Lloyd takes a seat, shutting the door behind him softly. The redhead then raises an ever-curious brow, and Lloyd doesn’t need to ask what the subtle change of expression means.

“I just thought maybe we could, y’know… talk, like we did the other night. Like maybe you could use a friend.”

_‘Funny. He wasn’t this invested in you when he was bestowing the angelic power during the journey.’_

Mithos’ words are dismissed by Zelos as quickly as they had rang through his mind. Instead, he tried desperately to focus on the conversation going on immediately in front of him, in the _real_ world.

“Heh, yeah. S’pose it was okay. At least, if vulnerability’s your thing, and it’s not usually mine.”

The brunette’s posture relaxes. “Well, it’s just the two of us right now. If you want to let your guard down, you can. I can tell something’s up. You’re not a good liar.” 

_‘Not to you, for some damn reason’,_ Zelos thinks; my, was it nice to have thoughts of his _own_ coursing through his head again. He couldn’t begin to explain it, but somehow Lloyd was different-- even Sheena had only broken through his facade once or twice, but in the short time he’d known Lloyd, the brunette had smashed through it with a lead brick. Somehow, that still doesn’t make anything easier. On the contrary, it only made things more complicated. Zelos wasn’t a big fan of _complicated_ , especially when it involved other people.

“You asked me earlier if I was okay. I’ll be real honest with ya. I don’t think I am.” A short pause, only enough for Lloyd to draw a quick, wispy breath in. “To be even more honest, bud, I’m not sure I’ve ever been less okay in my life.”

 _‘Tread carefully.’_ Zelos wishes with everything in his being that there was an off-switch for the newfound pester in the back of his mind.

Lloyd’s eyes lock with those of the other man. “Your life seems like it hasn’t been easy.”

“If I could choose for my life to be anything, it would be _‘easy’_. In the meantime, I’m stuck with whatever the hell this is.”

The brunette sighs. “I can kind of understand that, though. You said yourself that I was raised by a cult. Now that I’ve defied them, I want to change the world, and _none_ of that has been easy.”

Zelos finally sits up before breaking his shared gaze with the boy before him. Instead, he chooses to stare out of the window at the setting sun, still clouded by a mask of residual smoke. Opening up to Lloyd was beginning to feel easier and easier, and that simple fact petrified him to his core. Sometimes, as much as he disliked _complicated_ , he disliked _easy_ even more.

“My entire life, it was like my life didn’t belong to me because I was destined to save the world, as Cruxis and the church referred to it. Now, how can my body even belong to me if I was only born to be someone else?” 

_‘Your mana signature is a 99.998% match to mine.’_

Zelos glares, knowing the gesture means nothing. _‘I hate you.’_

_‘To both our dismay, I think you’re more like me than you think.’_

“Shut up,” he breathes crudely before turning back to the brunette and seeing his expression, posture, and body language reek of absolute confusion.

“Wait, what?” Lloyd’s brows crease, and Zelos certainly didn’t like whatever look was splayed across his face.

“Sorry man, not you.” 

The chosen’s apology only seems to perplex Lloyd further, as it rightfully should. As such, Zelos’ palm swiftly collides with his own cheek in what had to be the most glorious face-palm Tethe’alla had ever seen. _‘Ah, shit.’_

“Hate to cut this short, but I think I need a little bit more of that ‘me’ time. Talk later, ‘kay, bud?” as he rises, Zelos gives the other man a swift, firm, and impersonal pat on the back before reaching for the door and exiting.

No matter what happened, the chosen only seemed to bestow Lloyd with more questions than answers. But instead of leaving him with any sort of fear, the son of a seraphim felt nothing sort of a tug in his psyche that drew him to learn _more_ , to be by his side _more_ \--

and that’s where the fear began to creep in.

//

The bleak, sullied energy of the day before hadn’t washed away with a night’s rest, but _oh_ , how the chosen’s group wished it had; if the state of affairs didn’t feel real before, then it had never been as real as it was in this very moment. The only options were to save the worlds, or to die, and until they chose one or the other, the only thing that was going to keep happening was other people dying in their place. There was certainly no telling whether a third option existed in this world or the other.

Every single member of the chosen’s group is packing their belongings in silence, knowing as well as all the others that they had little to no options left, save for turning themselves in; even the unknown felt more comfortable than that.

Regal breaks the voiceless silence at last, turning to ask the question ringing through everyone’s minds. “Where do we go from here, Chosen?”

Truth be told, Zelos didn’t know, but thankfully for him, Sheena speaks before he can admit that fragile truth.

“We should talk to Tiga about this. Mizuho have helped us before.”

Raine frowns. “That’s assuming they’re still on our side. I have a rapport with Mizuho’s information network, but the last time you were here, you were here on the journey of regeneration. Now, we’re all wanted by the church for not only harboring Genis and I, who are wanted criminals, but for abandoning the journey in the first place.”

Zelos decides to use his newfound connection to his advantage. If he was going to be anchored to someone so vile until further notice, the least he could do was make _use_ of something potentially _useful_ . _‘Well, got any answers for us, Sir High-and-Mighty Mithos?’_

The half-elf answers back quickly and sharply enough to slice through a human heart. _‘Sylvarant.’_

 _‘Sylvarant? Those country folk think we’re the moon.’_ After the sheer _disaster_ that was last night, he had learned to restrain himself from any outward responses to the murmur in his mind.

 _‘They’re vastly behind Tethe’alla in the development of magitechnology, yes. Even still, I know of a dwarf formerly of Cruxis who could easily craft a Key crest. Now, I suggest you tell your friends so you can actually form a_ cohesive _plan.’_

Zelos’ arm shoots up in the air, catching the immediate attention of his comrades. “Well, folks, anyone up for a trip to Sylvarant?”

His statement catches all five companions off guard, but any suggestions were welcome at this point-- even the seemingly foolish ones.

“Well… I guess that we could always go and warn the chosen over there about Cruxis’ plans, at least if they don’t already know what’s going on.” Lloyd was already committed to the idea, but he couldn’t think of any other justification for it that made even a twinge of sense.

The scholar glances to Lloyd, then to Zelos and back again. “I suppose once you overcome the absurdity of traveling between worlds, the suggestion makes sense.”

“Is the Otherworldly Gate not an option to get to Sylvarant? I’ve heard whispers of its link between the two worlds.” Regal’s suggestion echoes that of his agreement, even without outright confirmation of it.

Sheena lets out a soft _‘hmm’_ at the idea. “Should we ask the Chief?” Nods from around the room solidify the answer as a clear _‘yes’_ and a _‘what other option do we have at this point?’_ twisting in harmony.

This suggestion proved unnecessary, as upon stepping out of the inn, all six heroes find themselves face-to-face with the same soldier with ultramarine hair who had attempted an attack on their life back at the Temple of Lightning. This time, however, he presents alone with no sign of a weapon or soldiers at his side.

“Yuan!” Lloyd exclaims, recognizing the visitor as the seraphim immediately. “Are you finally going to tell me what the hell’s going on!?”

“Calm down, son of Kratos. I’m not here to fight. I want to join forces, actually-- so long as you continue down the path you’re on now.”

Mithos’ voice rings clearly in Zelos’ head: _‘My, isn’t this interesting...’_

Zelos raises a brow. “What’s ‘the path you’re on now’ supposed to mean? Who even _are_ you, man?”

“What do _you_ think? I am one of the four seraphim of Cruxis who split the world in two. You’ve strayed from the world regeneration, and the longer its completion is put off, the better. If you plan to fight against Cruxis, then I will assist you.”

“But why, exactly?” Genis is clearly a little more than confused by the _‘traitor’_ element, much like the rest of his companions.

Despite his unchanging facial expression, Yuan’s eyes are bright with determination. “Because I’m going to take down Yggdrasill and his twisted world with all I’ve got.”

 _‘An unexpected traitor in the ranks? This certainly takes precedence over you being a_ nuisance _, chosen.’_

Squinting, Zelos nearly slips and responds out loud before catching his breath and staying silent-- something he was both a master and a failure at in his own right. _‘How did he even find us, anyway?’_

_‘I have been informing the other seraphim of your whereabouts to ensure compliance. This, however, is Yuan acting on his own.’_

_‘Good to know what’s going on over there, considering I’ve been doing everything I can to stay_ out _of your head.’_

Regal’s voice snaps Zelos back into the present time and place. For once, Zelos wished he could stay there. “How do you plan to assist us, Yuan?”

“ _Hpmh_. I will allow you use of Cruxis’ remote facilities and our Rheairds for travel between worlds.” The seraphim folds his arms, but he’s not finished yet. 

“Assuming you plan to do something more than just save the chosen, a legendary weapon called the Eternal Sword will allow the wielder to separate or reunite the worlds as they desire.”

Zelos steps forward. “A’ight, sounds great and all, but what’s the catch?”

 _‘So you are aware, I am absolutely_ not _assisting you with this under_ any _circumstances. I will help you find a Key crest, and then our goals diverge once more.’_

Yuan had to have been one of the most difficult people to read that _anyone_ in the party had ever met, but that didn’t stop them from trusting his words. After all, much like Lloyd upon defecting, a traitor to Cruxis has _no reason to lie_ , aside from to _cover their own ass--_ as Zelos had so graciously put it such a seemingly short time ago.

“The _catch_ is that since the Eternal Sword was crafted for none other than Yggdrasill himself, only half-elves are able to wield it. I see you have half-elves among you, but if they reject this responsibility, then look into forming the Ring of the Pact. The ring would allow even a human to wield the legendary blade.”

Genis’ eyes turn to slits, darting back and forth between his companions. It was clear that Raine was not about to step up and volunteer, so he chose to raise his voice instead.

“Well, is anybody gonna teach me how to wield a sword then, or are we planning to go through all the extra work to make the Ring so that one of you humans can do it instead?”

Zelos was clearly not thrilled about the idea, and considering he and Genis’ inherent distaste for each other, Zelos teaching the half-elf the art of swordplay was unlikely at best. Glancing between his companions, Lloyd begins to realize that it was either him or no-one at all.

“Well, I’ll do it, Genis. It seems like this is our best option right now, anyway.”

Genis nods in agreement; by now, all that needed to be said had already been spoken into existence.

“Since you’ve got that much figured out, I suggest that we be on our way.” Yuan turns on his heels, cape billowing as he spins the chosen’s group away from Mizuho.

A whole new world is about to be presented before them, and surely, the unfamiliar land of Sylvarant had to be better than the endless persecution of Tethe’alla.

//

“Brace yourselves! We’re about to break through the barrier!”

Fingers grip tighter around the handlebars of each Rheaird in preparation for passing through the thin, metaphysical line drawn between worlds; anything could happen from here as lights caress the nothingness before them, as if their future is crossed with a big variable _X_ for unnamed, unperceived, _unknown_.

“The hell’s that!?” Zelos’ voice is drowned by a sharp increase in pressure and the deafening sound of feedback screeching in the air. The end of the void was in sight, but not before the cloudless light culminated in a burst so bright, everyone saw stars dance across their vision.

The light subsides as quickly as it had become tangible at all, leaving a breathtaking view of clouds, mountains, and lush trees below. 

“Have we made it to Sylvarant?” Genis grips his sister tighter; Yuan had only brought three additional Rheairds, so it was necessary for everyone to double up in order to complete the interdimensional travel. Naturally, the siblings had chosen to pair together.

Lloyd had asked Zelos to share, and his initial answer had been no-- _“Sorry bud, I don’t usually let_ dudes _get this close to me,”_ \-- but the decision ended up being made for him when Sheena said she’d rather stay in Tethe’alla than be divvied up with Zelos. Luckily for the chosen, the experience wasn’t nearly as abhorrent as he had imagined. 

For a split second, he even found himself wishing he could feel again. A _‘twang’_ in his heartstrings, if he had them at all.

_‘Your heart rate is rising. You really seem to enjoy his presence. How fascinating.’_

Giving his head a subtle shake, Zelos wishes he could shake the voice out of it as well. _‘Ah, shut it already.’_

Mithos laughs. _‘If you’re going to choose to be a pain, then I can assure you that I will be returning the favour.’_

 _‘Whatever you say,_ Mithos _.’_ The chosen knew all-too-well that if he stopped aggravating the overlord, then perhaps their situation would grow livable at best, but Zelos was also a terribly sore loser, he thrived on competition, and he knew that one day, it would be the death of him, so long as Cruxis didn't take him first.

The Rheairds touch ground at last, and each hero steps onto the rich, emerald green grass: nothing less than a stark contrast from Tethe’alla’s withered and lonesome countryside.

“Wow. So this is what the flourishing world looks like.” Sheena looks around in awe, taking note of all the birds in the blue sky. Sylvarant could only be described an upended polaroid of the declining world-- such prosperity was unimaginable to Tethe’allans who had spent their lives living in sullen gray skies.

Lloyd nods, despite the fact that this was his first time across the barrier as well. “Hopefully once we save the two worlds, they can both look like this.”

“Come _on_ . They probably don’t even have cruise ships and amusement parks here.” A smirk crawls across Zelos’ face as he speaks these meager words. _Deflect, deflect,_ until there’s nothing left to deflect at all.

The half-elven siblings sigh in unison, exhaling exasperation from their mouths like steam in the snowy city of Flanoir. “You’ve really got a one-track mind, huh?”

Yuan’s expression is bleak as ever, and by now he is simply tired of dealing with the chosen and his _band of idiots,_ as he graciously thought of them. He was eternally thankful that this Chosen of Mana was fighting back against the oppressive forces of Cruxis, but _Goddess_ , did he ever find them all _annoying_.

“Now that you have these Rheairds, you can travel between worlds all you want. If you’re ready to be on your way, then I’ll be on mine.”

As the rest of the party bids Yuan farewell, Genis turns to his sister, eyes wrenched with reflection and supple vulnerability as he finally allows himself to speak the words echoing endlessly through his mind.

“What’s wrong with everyone becoming the same? Isn’t that going to end discrimination against people like us?”

Raine’s head shakes and her silver bangs swish as they move back and forth across her forehead. 

“If only it were that simple, Genis. No matter what happens, people are always going to find something to hate. The least we can do is find a way for everyone to live without any sacrifices.”

“But…” he stops, an artificial smile forcing its way across his face. “I guess you’re right.”

 _‘What if there were a way to make a world for half-elves to live in without fear of discrimination?’_ he thinks, and those thoughts only begin to eat him alive. In spite of hastily volunteering himself to wield the sword that would save the two worlds, his mind was far more racked with doubt than he would readily admit.

Raine tugs at her younger brother’s shoulder, beckoning for him to join the rest of the group. “Let’s go, Genis.”

_‘What lengths would I go to see this happen? Would I fight for it?’_

As they begin to walk toward their companions, Genis only wonders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In Which Mithos Just Can't Shut The Fuck Up
> 
> [My commentary on this chapter: brags, regrets, and trivia!](https://twitter.com/flambydelrabies/status/1294037561741053952)


	6. The Hanged Man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Emetophobia mention, which i'm putting in the tags of this fic just to be on the safe side now.  
> I know it's late again, but life happens. On the bright side, I asked my beta if she had any words for this chapter and she said "two BIG thumbs up".
> 
> Now with commentary in end A/N.

_"How many years did I suffer the loves that gave too much freedom and not enough tenderness?"_

_\- Keetje Kuipers_

//

Zelos never once expected Sylvarant to be beautiful.

He had never expected to come here at all, really, but now that he had, he couldn’t imagine ever going back to the withering world he had always called home. His entire life, trees had gradually shed more of their leaves, the sky rang grey in tone with clouds that hung low in the sky, and grass was brittle as straw. Sylvarant, however, was the glaring opposite in every way that mattered, instead resembling prosperity even in the mere word itself. 

“Hey Zelos, you coming?”

Breaking from a quick moment of introspection and fragility, he takes his eyes off the cloudless blue sky and gazes at his companions, who continue toward the silhouette of a city in the distance. At the very least, ‘city’ is the only explanation for the shape of tall buildings crawling across the skyline; considering none of the six heroes had ever been to Sylvarant before, the chance of unknowingly walking directly into one of Cruxis’ bases still remained a possibility. Regardless, it only made sense to pursue the lead that was all but staring them in the face.

“Hey, guys, are we supposed to lay low here, or do we just carry on being us?” Lloyd’s inquisitive voice matched his wide, curious eyes, but still posed a valid point; after all, considering the chosen system was identical in both worlds, it was only safe to assume the Church of Martel was as well.

“Tethe’alla knows of Sylvarant because we spent so long as the flourishing world, allowing us to develop magitechnology that Sylvarant lacks. However, to this day, Sylvarant is still unaware of our existence.” Raine’s statement was straight to the point, just as was necessary. “Assuming that Tethe’alla and Sylvarant’s Church of Martel operate as two separate entities, we should be fine.”

Genis sighs in response. “I hope so. I just want to walk around without being afraid of someone calling the Pope on me.”

“We should be careful, just in case. Please, try to refrain from causing a scene.” Regal Bryant, impossible to argue against, even with words minced. For a rag-tag band of spitfire heroes, no better advice could possibly have been given.

Without further chance for idle chatter, they step foot in the city spied from miles away, and it was truly as vast as its distant outline suggested. Buildings stood tall, businesses boomed, and most of all, people were happy; everything Tethe’alla wasn't.

“Excuse me, there!” A priest cries almost immediately upon the party’s entry, and only moments after the group agreement not to incriminate themselves. Everyone then freezes in their tracks, ready to don their rheairds and run the moment something were to go wrong. Two hours into their journey to Sylvarant, and they were already holding their breath.

“Hi, can we help you with something?” Sheena, who was objectively the member of the party with the greatest capability to act _normal_ around strangers, chose to answer, saving everyone else from screwing anything up before it’d even begun. 

The priest nods. “Of course! Are you aware of what day it is here?”

“Err-- we’re not from here.” A nice save, if there ever was one.

“Then welcome, travelers! You’ve reached the city of Palmacosta, and today, the chosen herself is visiting from the church to offer us her blessings!”

Sheena glances to Zelos, then Lloyd, Genis, Raine, and Regal. All six think the same thing, and that would be that by freak coincidence, they came across some phenomenal timing. Nods ripple throughout the crowd.

“Wow! How do we get involved in something like that?” Sheena’s words speak on behalf of each one of her friends, who only stand in silence.

“Oh, it’s simple! The demonstration begins this afternoon in the city centre, which leaves you plenty of time to explore while you’re here.”

Zelos steps forward, choosing to speak in Sheena’s stead. “Awesome. You can count us in, bro.”

“Bro?” The priest blinks, and Zelos is trying with everything in his being not to laugh. Of all things, how could someone not know what _‘bro’_ means?

 _‘Crap, that’s right-- Tethe’allan slang. We’re way ahead of them.’_ “It’s short for brother. Don’t worry about it. Thanks for letting us know about the big event!”

Mithos’ voice rings through his head once more, and it always happens the moment Zelos thinks the half-elf has finally let him be. _‘They’re not out to get you here, but clearly you couldn’t lay low even if your life depended on it. I have no idea how someone as foolish as you could have a nearly identical mana signature to mine.’_

_‘Hey, you wanna strip me of my title? Go for it. Never wanted it in the first place.’_

The priest takes a bow, waving his hand in solidarity. “Alright, see you at the demonstration, travelers! May the Goddess be with you!”

A glare of exasperation plants itself on the redhead directly from the eyes of Sheena herself-- after all, who else would be glaring at him with such force after a blunder like that?

“What? How was I supposed to know they don’t have our slang here? Come _on_.”

“Let’s go check out the city. It seems like there’s a lot to see here!” Lloyd exclaims with joy. Just as Lloyd was beginning to pick apart the _‘who’_ and _‘why’_ of Zelos, Zelos was starting to do the same of Lloyd; the poor kid had been sheltered so badly that he lacked a childhood at all, and his excitement about libraries, cities, and exploration was just as genuine as it was born of trauma. 

Zelos couldn’t help but want to discover these things all over again, but with Lloyd by his side this time-- and Zelos was so clueless around anyone he became captivated by, he was even clueless about the fact that he had been captivated at all.

//

“Wow! They have an academy here too!” Genis shouts, stars brimming in his wide eyes. “It would be so cool to go to school in the flourishing world!”

“Once we save the worlds, they’ll both be flourishing!” Lloyd is bordering on giddy the moment he speaks, despite the murky waters of uncertainty around whether they could achieve such a great task at all. Even the idealist himself had his doubts.

“Maybe I can finish school here… maybe I can even go on to get a degree and become a researcher. A real researcher, not just the ones stuck in labs by the church.”

“I believe in you, Genis.” Nodding, Lloyd fumbles with his bag, his hands shrouded in mystery. “By the way, I got you something.”

Once visible again, he’s holding a short, lightweight blade; he could easily bounce it between two hands, much unlike his dual longswords.

“It’s nice and light, perfect for beginners. I thought maybe while we wait for the ceremony, I could teach you some basic sparring.”

The half-elf’s eyes stretch in astonishment, and even more than that, he nearly feels the need to pick his jaw off of the stone mosaic below. When the shock settles, his face is neatly painted with a smile-- genuinely so, perhaps the first true smile that had creeped across his face since leaving Meltokio.

Brows furrowing, Lloyd is thoroughly concerned by such a strong reaction, as he should be; after all, the sword was hardly worth any Gald at all, and it was one of the most basic blades on the market. To say there wasn’t a single remarkable thing about it would hardly be far from the truth. As far as he knew, maybe he’d made a mistake in doing all this.

“Is… everything okay? Do you not like it? I can always sell it and buy another one if you want.”

“No, it’s not that.” As he shakes his head, silver bangs brush against his browline, and his expression read of optimism as much as it did of shock and grief. “It’s that nobody’s ever given me a gift before.”

“Huh?” In Lloyd’s mind, it takes a series of idle gears clicking and turning to process what Genis’ words, before finally realizing that the two of them are far more _alike_ than they differ. The half-elven boy’s childhood must have been comparable to his own, but instead of isolation born of captivity, Genis’ was filled with isolation from running away. Even Lloyd preferred the idea of life in a cage to the continuous fear of becoming someone’s prey.

Instead, a smile crosses his face. “Well, in that case, I’m glad I can be the first. What do you say we practice a couple basics?”

Genis is beaming from ear-to-ear, his stark youthfulness ever-evident in each swing of his arm. “Yeah, let’s do it!”

 _‘After everything I’ve been through,’_ he runs to join Lloyd, a gleaming smile of genuine joy stretched wide across his face. _‘Maybe some humans are alright, too.’_

//

As Palmacosta’s residents began to gather at the city’s centre, there couldn’t have been a clearer indication to Zelos and his friends that the countdown to the chosen’s demonstration was beginning. Two worlds, two chosen; Zelos can’t help but wonder what the chosen of this world was like, how they act, how much they were _like him_. Clearly, their fates differed as much as life and death-- fitting, considering one of them is blessed with the fate to live, the other cursed to die.

“C’mon, we’ve gotta get good spots,” the redhead begins shoving his way to the front before being cut short by the words of those around him.

“ _Ssh!_ It’s about to start!”

Sure enough, a steady succession of priests approach, and in their wake is a girl with golden hair and eyes like sunbeams. Everything about her radiated holiness, warmth, and fortitude-- all qualities that a chosen _should_ have in spades in Zelos’ mind, and all things that he didn’t possess in any capacity _at all_ . The mere thought made his eyes dart to the ground with disappointment, and he can’t tell if it’s because of his own sorry personality or because of whichever church, Goddess, whoever, or _whatever, chose wrong_ by choosing _him_.

“People of Palmacosta! The Chosen of Mana, Colette Brunel, Spiritua reborn herself, has come to offer her prayers to this city!”

As the crowd roars with applause, this scene begins to feel oddly familiar to Tethe’alla’s chosen; only, when he’s here, he’s not the chosen at all-- exactly the way he has always wanted it. With that knowledge strung through his mind like a man on death row who had slipped from the noose, Sylvarant was looking more beautiful to him by the minute. _Still,_ as he lifted his gaze and laid eyes on the girl with the golden hair, the chosen of the flourishing world was _him_ , but completely the opposite in all the ways that mattered, like a divination card drawn in its reversed position. Even as she raised her voice, she was still soft-spoken and gentle as she called out to the crowd.

“Oh, blessed city of Palmacosta in the holy land of Sylvarant! May we continue to live in prosperity for all of our days.”

The speech raises the spirits of a congregation brought together by shared faith, in stark contrast to the crowd Zelos stood before in Tethe’alla who were there out of self-serving greed.

 _‘The world is going to be restored!’ ‘The chosen one, our saviour!’_ All of it, fake, empty, and hollow.

The unpleasant memories ruminating in and out of his head are cut short by a certain _someone_ who grates against his _every_ nerve. ‘ _Quit with the self-pitying bullshit. If you really want to speak with the chosen of this world, you’re about to lose your chance.’_

His eyes found a comfortable spot to rest upon within the tiny labyrinth of stonework beneath him, and when he finally looked up, the speech was long-over and Sylvarant’s chosen was walking away. The finest ability Zelos had acquired in the angel transformation was to be the ability to dissociate on command-- one eye open, one eye closed, and time flashes in the blink of an eye. Had his cerebrum _not_ been tied to Mithos', the ability to shut his brain off whenever he so pleased would be _comfortable,_ even _welcome_ , of all things.

Sure enough, a blink of an eye it was between now and whenever his subconscious had bared its claws last.

“Hey, Zelos, let’s see if we can talk to her.” Lloyd gives the redhead a quick nudge, solidifying that it was in their best interests to pursue the girl who only paced further and further away. After all, if she left, they may never again have this opportunity.

“Excuse me, Chosen!”

The voices of Zelos and his companions catch her off-guard, but that was far less important than catching her in the first place.

“Hi there!” The glow of sun and stars alike radiates from her compassionate grin. “Is there something you need, travelers?”

There was no way they’d be able to talk to her with any honesty whatsoever when surrounded by the gaggle of priests at her sides. Instead, Raine creates a diversion, if a convenient half-truth could even be called such. “Yes, chosen of Sylvarant. One of our companions is unwell, and we were hoping to say a prayer together for their recovery.”

Colette glances at her defendants from the church, who nod in approval.

“Alright. It’s nice to meet you, everyone-- why don’t we take a walk by the water?”

Palmacosta was a city that inspired as much awe as the Tower of Salvation could to the people of Sylvarant, who had never gazed upon its marvel-- perhaps a city as great and beautiful as Meltokio could be, if it existed in the flourishing world. The way the canals spiralled alongside buildings, shops, and wooden docks could not be matched, and Lloyd relished this opportunity to see the purest ocean water he’d ever laid eyes on. 

Truth be told, the ocean wasn’t of much interest to Zelos, but the way the brunette’s face lit up with each new discovery certainly was.

The eyes of Sylvarant’s chosen sparkle in the sunlight, as if she couldn’t be any more of a figure of purity. Zelos was starting to feel though he’d catch fire or something in her presence based on his growing number of sins alone. Lying, adultery, deception, insincerity-- and most glaringly, abandoning the world he was born to save. If that alone wasn’t _un-chosenly,_ then he certainly had no idea what _was_.

Colette turns to Raine, the one to initiate this interaction in the first place with little plan for how to proceed. “Can you tell me more about your friend who’s sick? That way, I can create a special prayer just for them.”

Eyes dart from one companion to the next before Zelos finally chooses to step forward. At least this way, he could pick and pry at her himself-- rip her wings off the same way he wished he could rip off his. 

“Yeah, that’d be me.” 

The urge to make a flirtatious, degrading comment to Sylvarant’s chosen tugs out of second nature, but he brings that same impulse to a grinding halt the moment it even crosses his mind. After all, here in Sylvarant, he’s not Zelos Wilder, Chosen of Mana; he’s only Zelos Wilder, a moderately attractive man with no status or power, all of which were things he clung to as if his last shred of hope in despair. Somehow, the fact that he didn’t have to swear by those superficial traits here felt freeing, albeit terribly vulnerable.

Still, he couldn’t explain it even if he had _wanted_ to, but even vulnerability _itself_ was sparking less and less futile resistance in his unquiet mind; regardless, it was still as far from home for him as he was here in the unfamiliar land of Sylvarant.

“Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that you’re unwell. Can you tell me your name?” Colette is gripping her hands together in perfect harmony, and all the while, her smile never falters.

“Ah, y’know. You can call me Zelos.” In this unknown world, he could be anyone he wanted, but somehow, he still chose to be Zelos. It wasn’t worth pretending to be anything better than he knew himself to be, anyways. “Before we do the prayer, I’d like to hear about the chosen system here in Sylvarant.”

Colette nods. “It was my great-grandmother, Spiritua, who restored Sylvarant to prosperity seventy years ago, after many years spent with mana declining. Until the world starts to lose its mana again, I travel throughout the land to spread the word of the Goddess and offer my prayers to those who need it most alongside the Church.”

“Did your great-grandmother ever come back after she regenerated the world?” Zelos frowns, probing for more. There had to be _no possible way_ she was unaware of the chosen’s fate.

“I wasn’t born yet, so I’ve known the world to be beautiful, just like this. But my mother told me that once the world was restored, my great-grandmother became an angel and her soul helped nourish the world.” Her eyes twinkle with sadness, but the same warmth remains. “In a way, it’s like there’s a little piece of her in all of us now.”

Zelos’ initial plan was to tell her of Cruxis and the truth behind the world regeneration, but he couldn’t do it now; she was everything he wasn’t. She was too _nice_ , too _kind_ , too much of a _genuinely good person_ for him to take her sense of reality and snap it in half, then abandon her with the pieces.

_‘Martel would not accept Spiritua. Thus, despite being a ‘successful’ chosen, she continues to be unworthy.’_

Slowly, it was beginning to get easier holding two conversations at once, and whether _‘I can talk to people while ignoring the goddamn glaring, spitting voice in my head’_ was truly a positive thing or simply another way Zelos had learned to adapt to a different kind of suffering was beyond him. Instead of validating Mithos’ scathing words, he turns his attention back to Colette’s story instead.

“Wow. That’s beautiful.” Still, he feels remorse; whether it was due to his own jaded world-weariness or her naive innocence was unclear, but both of these things left him sitting in uncomfortable silence with equal amounts of distress. 

“I have another question. My sickness, I need a Key crest to fix it. Do you know where I can find one?”

Colette is puzzled now, but only for mere moments-- enough for Zelos to recognize he may have made a wrong move by just asking. “Exspheres haven’t been used since the world was regenerated. Where did you get an exsphere?”

Lloyd is ready to spill all the details out of childlike righteousness and raises his voice without warning. “We’re--”

“Mercenaries.” Zelos’ hand shoots upward to cut the noise in the same way it cuts the tension. His companions look at him in confusion, but recognize that silently playing along is their best chance of navigating whatever foolish game Zelos had chosen to play. After all, the priests were barely twenty feet away, and that was well within both eyesight and earshot; any wrong move and Sylvarant’s chosen could cry for them. The last thing they needed right now was to be wanted by the church in not _one_ , but _two_ worlds.

“Oh, I see. I’m sorry-- I don’t really know what to do about it then, but we can certainly pray together.” Her fingers are interlocked and head bowed in preparation to make contact with the Goddess. At least, that’s what she believed, and to Zelos, watching someone _else_ believe it was enough. Everyone else followed suit in short succession, whether they felt any sort of spiritual drive or not. By this point, all five of them had become jaded enough to have their doubts.

“Goddess Martel, please give Zelos the traveling mercenary strength to endure any illness or hardship in his path. May he find a key crest and live a long, healthy life, and may the world remain prosperous for all of it.” Her eyelids flutter open and pupils tilt to the sky in tow with the flicker of birds soaring above. “Thank you, Goddess.”

Zelos’ eyes open as Colette’s soft smile burns into his blue eyes. “Nah, thank _you_ , Chosen of Mana.”

_‘You should know by now that the Goddess is a lie, Zelos.’_

The redhead tries not to frown. _‘I never believed in any Goddess, even before this god-awful journey. The least I can do is humour someone who does.’_

_‘My, perhaps you do have a conscience in that empty head of yours.’_

He’s frowning now, for real. _‘More than you do, I can assure you of that.’_

“I need to go back to the church now. It was so lovely to meet you, Zelos and friends.” Colette bows in respect before turning to join the priests once more.

Sheena’s brows are nearly touching in sheer annoyance. None of that went as planned, and they received absolutely _nothing_ from that encounter. “Zelos, what was that about? Didn’t you want to warn her about Cruxis’ plans?” 

He shrugs before dropping his arms to his sides. “I was going to. But she really believes in all this garbage. She’s so innocent, I didn’t want to be the one to break ‘er.” Innocent, sweet, giving, _selfless_ \-- two polar opposites, the same way Sylvarant and Tethe’alla opposed each other in such visceral nature.

Raine is the one to cut the silence next with a click of tongue against teeth. “I suppose depending on how you look at the situation, the decision not to tell her was either kind or cruel.”

“Well, once we save the two worlds, no chosen will ever have to go on the journey again. So maybe, assuming we make it happen, it was kind not to tell her the reality of being the chosen after all.'' Everyone looks at Lloyd and their faces brighten in subtle agreement-- at least, enough to wash away any residual displeasure with Zelos’ white lies.

“What do you say we split up and explore the city for a bit, guys? We can meet up at the inn later. I want to check out the school.” Genis hardly waits for an answer before running toward the towering collegiate in awe; even Zelos couldn’t recall the last time he saw the half-elf filled with this much joy, or if he _ever_ had to begin with.

“Say, Zelos, want to go check out the canals with me?” Unbeknownst to Lloyd, his face was nearly as bright as the rose-red coat he’d donned since day one. 

Brows furrowed, Zelos is confused by this reaction for one reason alone: much as was running circles through his brain earlier, here, he was not Zelos, Chosen of Tethe’alla, or Zelos, the wealthy, upper-class aristocrat. He was just Zelos, point-blank in all his sarcastic sincerity, and in that same vein, Lloyd was not ‘ _son of Kratos’_ , either. What reason did he have to react like some blushing moron to Zelos without status or power?

His moments of introversion were beginning to multiply exponentially, particularly since Mithos forced his way into his already-troubled mind. Before the journey, he had become an expert in pushing down any unpleasant feeling that waltzed against his psyche, but now, it was all so much that the thoughts were beginning to spill over-- and that wasn’t Zelos’ style _at all_. 

Finally, forcing himself back into the present moment, he speaks. “Why so flushed, bud? This is just little ol’ Zelos you’re talking to.” 

Lloyd frowns. “Hey! You didn’t answer my question.”

“C’mon, does it really need an answer? Let’s go.” As they take off in their own respective dazes, Lloyd dares to turn to the redhead once more.

“Y’know, it's weird, we’ve been traveling together for a while, and even still, you're still so much of a mystery to me.”

Running a finger through his luscious hair, Zelos’ lopsided grin returns. Considering the _‘chosen’_ portion of himself is the only part people seem to care about, these kinds of statements are vastly unfamiliar to him in all the wrong ways. Who even _cared_ what there was to him under the surface? 

_Was_ there anything under the surface at all?

“What can I say? I’m a mysterious guy.” Truth be told, even in such a short time-frame, Lloyd had still seen more of Zelos’ vulnerabilities than ninety-nine point nine percent of people: the only exception being Seles Wilder herself. 

Clearly, Lloyd cared, and Zelos had _no idea_ why.

“Fine, then. Tell me your favourite colour, Zelos.”

 _Hmm._ “Well, I absolutely _hate_ the colour red.”

 _‘Interesting, considering how much you like it on_ him _.’_

Zelos grits his teeth; he’ll be damned if Mithos ruined this for him, whatever it was. _‘Stay out of this for once, would ya?’_

Lloyd laughs, beaming with amusement--a small change of expression that warmed Zelos’ heart enough to breathe again. “Come on, I said _favourite_ colour, not _least_ favourite. But if we’re gonna play that game, then my least favourite colour is green.”

“Why green? You strike me as someone who’d hate, like... purple, or something.”

“Too much of that pale green colour around Welgaia.” He laughs before a far more gentle exhale escapes his lips. “You just get sick of it after a while when it’s all you see.”

“Neat. Our least favourite colours are complementary colours. Not that I expect you, of all people, to know what that means.”

A playful glare makes its way from Lloyd to the redhead in a matter of seconds. “You’re right, I don’t. Are you gonna tell me or not?”

“Ha. Fine.” He’s grinning his usual goofy smile, but the difference is that this time, it’s not the sly, half-sided smirk Lloyd had become accustomed to; it’s a genuine smile of a lighthearted spirit. A subtle difference, but not subtle enough for Lloyd to miss it. 

“It’s all about colour theory, bud. When you look at the colour wheel, complementary colours are always directly opposite from each other. The great painters during the ancient war always said that the finest harmonies were found when two colours were complementary to each other.”

 _‘I hope you know this is all so corny, you may as well be calling him_ hunny _right now.’_

Lloyd’s grinning with ease, taking the flutter he feels in his stomach and following it wherever it may lead. “What about surprises? Do you like surprises?”

“What, you trying to buy me a gift or somethin’? You know, you can just tell me.”

“Haha, definitely not. I just figure nobody’s asked you these things before, so I’m asking you now.”

Zelos raises a brow. “Now, what makes you think that?”

Now Lloyd is lifting a single brow in unison; his look seemed to be caught somewhere between _‘smug’_ and _‘troubled’_ . Perhaps a sixty-forty split, if not more skewed toward _‘troubled’_. “Zelos, you couldn’t even tell me what your favourite colour was.”

His face contorts, subtle enough that to _anyone else_ , it could have been undetectable-- but it’s not a frown of sadness, or even disappointment. Instead, it’s a frown that spoke _‘oh my god, you’re right, I’ve never had to think about what my favourite colour was because nobody has ever cared enough to ask’._

“For the record, I do like surprises, but considering I’m only half human now, _nothing_ surprises me anymore.” Zelos wasn’t sure if this was something anyone else would consider _‘acceptable’_ to laugh at, but the absurdity of being a walking, talking, unfeeling meat-suit was something he couldn’t wrap his head around enough to process through any means. The _absurdity_ of his _own destiny_ was nothing short of hilarious.

“For me, personally, I like surprises, but only when it’s good news.” Lloyd is laughing again as they take a seat by the water, and Zelos would have been happy anywhere if it meant having Lloyd smiling by his side, but it was perfection being with him here in Sylvarant, where he doesn’t have the weight of the world on his shoulders. Lloyd then turns to the redhead, who dangles his feet from the docks, shoes teasing to touch the water below.

“Say, you’re a huge flirt, how about this one?” Lloyd pauses, and Zelos can’t feel anything else, but he can feel this very moment like a burning sensation in the pit of his stomach, spiraling with ease up to his heart. “You ever been in love before, Zelos?”

He squints, about to throw a _‘woah there, you hitting on me, bud’_ Lloyd’s way before realizing he wouldn’t even mind if he was.

“Nah. People like me don’t fall in love.” His gaze is solemn, but his blue eyes sparkle to match the water below.

Lloyd’s thousand-yard stare into the sea hardens to compliment Zelos’, but the brunette can’t wrap his head around whatever cryptic words just escaped the redhead’s lips. After all, what could possibly stop Zelos from the same feeling of passion and infatuation that Lloyd believes everyone deserves? Ever the idealist, he is-- even toward those who don’t believe they deserve such kindness.

“What do you mean, Zelos?”

“What do you think, hunny? I’m doomed. Even before I knew that I was gonna die on the journey I knew I could never commit to anyone, because if I’m stuck being the one to save the world, it’s impossible.”

_‘Did you do that on purpose, or are you mocking me, Zelos Wilder?’_

Zelos takes the newfound pause in conversation as an opportunity to shut up the ratchet that was _killing_ temporary perfection with a dear friend. _‘Do what, exactly, Lord_ Mithos _?’_

A laugh rings in his ears filled with nothing less than _spite_. _‘You called him ‘hunny’, which, if I recall correctly, is a term you use exclusively for your harem of female suitors.’_

 _‘Slip of the tongue, man. It doesn’t mean anything.’_ Zelos glances at Lloyd, who watches ships set sail as the chosen is tormented by the glaring, hissing, _spitting_ voice in his head.

 _‘I think it means something, at least to you, Zelos. In fact, I think you_ love _him.’_

The redhead is glaring at no-one in particular, and he’s _pissed_.

_‘No way, man. I’m not in love. Zelos Wilder flirts, fucks, and philanders, but he doesn’t do love.’_

_‘I want you to turn your attention to the feeling in your chest now. How, despite the fact that you can’t feel anything, your heart still burns when you’re next to him. What do you think that is, exactly?’_

Zelos adjusts his posture and tries his hardest to stay calm to stop from ruining this moment, because he’s praying to a Goddess he doesn’t believe in that it lasts forever.

_‘How would you know any of this, man? I’ve never been in love, and neither have you. Hell, I don’t think you’ve ever had a single genuine connection with another person before in your entire life.’_

_‘Well, until now, neither have you, and now we have the_ displeasure _of experiencing it together.’_

Lloyd’s voice snaps him back into the present moment-- where he wished he could stay, forever. “Hey, Zelos, one more question.”

“What’s up, bud?”

“If you were free of your life as the chosen, what would you do?” he asks as the sky begins to fade into sunset. Even the ways the colours meld together were different in Sylvarant; somehow, they were brighter, more vivid, and one could even see the stars before the sun had completely dimmed below the horizon.

Lloyd’s last question requires less thought, and the redhead’s response is nearly automatic. “I’d want a fun, easy life with nothing to worry about. Maybe I'd be a writer and publish under one of those fake names. Nobody would even know it’s me. How about you?”

“I’d be doing exactly what i’m doing now.” He pauses, waiting for the right series of moments to continue, because being here, above the water and watching the sunset with Zelos made his heart burn, too. 

“I’d be finding a way to save the world, and then maybe I’d go on a journey to destroy exspheres so they can never be used again.”

“Well, need a plus one for that, by any chance?” Zelos asks at the very same time that he asks himself _‘wait, am I_ flirting _with him?’_

“Ha! Sure. I’d love that.”

Somehow, Lloyd’s reaction left the redhead feeling far more anxious than relieved. 

Perhaps Mithos was right, and there was absolutely nothing he could say about that that would leave him filled with any emotion but _fear._ “Well, I’ll catch ya later, bud, I think I’ve gotta take a little bit ‘a time to myself before tomorrow.”

“Hey! Wait!” the brunette is exclaiming now, turning to face Zelos as his hastened footsteps patter against the docks and into the sunset.

_‘How ironic, the philandering chosen falls in love with a man...’_

Zelos is pacing the streets now, wiping beads of sweat from his forehead that he can’t even feel. He hates to admit it just as much as he _hates_ the person who spoke it into existence, but skirt-chasing, fuck-but-never-love Zelos Wilder truly was falling for Lloyd Aurion, and that _terrified_ him.

_‘Well, I suppose women are nice to look at, but I’ve never felt what I feel for Lloyd before, so I don’t know what that makes me.’_

He locates a secluded alleyway between shops-- somewhere quiet he could hyperventilate in _peace_ and perhaps shut up the malicious _peanut gallery_ in the back of his head: one that possessed a name and a face he so despised.

 _‘Do you know what that makes you, Zelos?’_ Mithos stops, waiting for a response before realizing there won’t be one at all. Instead, he continues. _‘It makes you an idiot. Falling in love makes you vulnerable. It’s like a gaping wound your enemies can stick their fingers into.’_

There is long since nothing left in Zelos’ stomach, but that doesn’t stop him from keeling over and dry-heaving out of pure rippling anxiety.

 _‘So just like you’re doing to me now, then?’_ He wipes stray specks of saliva from the corners of his mouth and collapses, slumped up against the stone wall of an item store and hidden from sight.

_‘Precisely.’_

Can’t eat, can’t sleep, can’t feel anything but an unfamiliar burning in his chest that couldn’t be anything other than love for some idealistic idiot, plagued with a constant battle against the voice in his head that only hoped to torment him. 

If he wasn’t already in hell, he _sure was now_.

//

The sparkle in Genis’ eyes grew stronger and brighter with each step he took through the Palmacosta Academy, and for good reason: It was everything he loved about Sybak and more. The research, all the labs, the reports-- there was no question about it, this was where he was _meant_ to be.

“How much Gald is the tuition every year?” he asks the professor who guides him through each hallway; they each looked exactly the same save for the textbooks that lined their walls, and Genis recognized nearly all of them. It was a surprise how much Tethe’alla and Sylvarant shared in academia considering the vast differences in their magitechnology: something that brought the half-elven boy to sheer bliss.

The researcher nods, leading him to the library that nearly overflowed with as much literature, the books could stretch to the sky. “Tuition is 10,000 Gald every semester, but those who score in the top percentile on the admissions test will receive a full scholarship.”

“Wow! And how many students do you take every semester?”

“There are thirty in every class, and each pool of applicants contains approximately 2000. This is a very competitive academy, and those who are accepted should consider themselves lucky.” The tour concludes, leading an ecstatic Genis back to the reception desk.

“At some point in the future, once I move to Palmacosta, I want to go here. I’m set on it.” His eyes are determined, filled with a shine never seen before. “What are your admission requirements!?” 

“Here. I’ll give you a copy of our application.”

His eyes scour the paper, blazing by the academics. Name, age, transcript… his burning eyes stop and grow weary the moment they see the word ‘race’ followed by two options: _‘human’_ , and _‘elf’_.

“Wait, are half-elves not allowed to study here?”

The professor’s voice hardens immediately with no trace left of the warm, sympathetic tone from minutes before. “I apologize, but we are not permitting half-elf applicants at this time.”

Genis’ enthusiasm was like a balloon pricked sharply and quickly with a needle, his feelings of confidence and drive seeping out his open mouth until left completely deflated. “W-what? Why?”

“Unfortunately, we do not wish to be liable for half-elves in our facilities.”

 _Snap,_ went whichever web of thread kept Genis’ composure woven neatly together.

The tremors begin in his hands, and as they work their way up into his arms, the shaking is exponential; the more the rest of his body quakes, he feels it growing, multiplying, and creating a home in his fists. All of the enthusiasm from moments before has faded now, and in its place stood inconsolable rage that threatened to crawl out of his body any way it could.

“You-- you humans…”

Much like his fiery outburst in Sybak, his skin felt searing hot and his throat was burning with every scream that had yet to leave his mouth. 

Gathering all his strength, Genis scrambles out the door with haste before he could achieve the level of damage he knew he was _damn well_ capable of.

//

The first thing Lloyd noticed upon making his way back to the city centre was Genis sprinting from the school, his body vibrating with each step he took. 

“Hey! Genis! Where are you going?” He asks, rushing to grab the small boy by the shoulder to make sure he didn’t tumble directly onto his face; with his shaky coordination, it certainly wouldn’t be the first time. The moment Lloyd’s hand hits his shoulder, Genis slows down enough to be reasoned with, but a flighty fist swats the grasp away as quickly as Lloyd had reached for him.

“Lloyd. I need you to understand something. You can’t touch me right now, or I will _hurt you_.”

The brunette is taken aback, but upon careful examination of the boy’s convulsing inflection and trembling hands, Lloyd realizes that he has seen this very sight before. 

“Genis. How about you talk to me about what’s going on? You’re allowed to. It’s okay.” His voice alone was calming, but the way he slowed his words so each syllable melded into the next helped quell the pulsating in Genis’ mind-- at least, enough that he could start to voice the terror running through it.

He’s clutching his temples now, silver hair shielding resentful eyes from the world around him. “I thought Sylvarant was going to be different. It was supposed to be. It was my last hope for a place to exist for people like me, without endless _persecution!_ ”

“Talk to me, Genis. Tell me what’s going through your head right now.”

“I just want to be accepted! I just want to be a normal kid who gets a degree, has friends, and doesn’t have to spend their life running away, all because I didn’t ask to be born like this!” The shaking that vibrates through his body begins to subside, but glass tears threaten to fall from his eyes instead.

Somehow, it was becoming all the more apparent that Lloyd had a way to _enchant_ people with compassion and boundless optimism, and once again, whatever talent he had was working.

“Can I put my hand on your shoulder?” A restricted, subtle _‘yeah’_ was given in response, and Lloyd’s touch was as gentle as his words. “Are you still upset?”

He sighs. “W-well, not really angry anymore… just feeling hopeless now, I guess.”

“How about we talk while sparring? You did really well earlier today.”

Genis nods, wiping the remaining tears from his eyes. “Yeah. I guess I could use some more practice.”

Retreating to the docks, the two boys draw their nimble weapons in the golden sunset. Genis is gradually beginning to feel more comfortable with a sword in his hands, much to his own surprise-- it was so vastly different from fighting in the background with his kendama, which he had primarily used as an aide to cast magic to begin with. Never once had he expected he had the strength to fight on the frontlines, much less to eventually wield the sword that will save the two worlds.

“Your posture’s already really good. You’re a natural at wielding these lightweight weapons.” Lloyd doesn’t even have to give him any pointers or suggestions to start; it were as if he were born with a sword in his hands.

“I don’t get it. Whenever I see discrimination against half-elves, it’s like this feeling comes over me that I can’t control.” Each clause is articulated between the clanging of blades, metallic and hollow.

“I remember how you reacted in Sybak,” Lloyd nods, then grits his teeth. “Avoid bending your wrist when you swing. Make sure you move from the elbow.”

“You did a really good job when you talked to me today, Lloyd.” He thrusts, and the other boy bounces backward, an instinctual response born of years of rigorous practice. “Usually, when it happens, I just explode. You brought me back down.”

“Tell you what,” Lloyd drops his guard, allowing for Genis to knock one of his dual blades to the ground. “I’ll try and be there to do it until you can do it on your own.”

“You got it!”

Blades clash while the two boys laugh and smile all the way; within the span of days, he had built a connection to Lloyd he never imagined he could with anyone at all, much less with a human. Nothing was stopping him now from being the hero to wield the Eternal Sword, short of the insecurities born of fourteen years of discrimination, hatred, and the very way ways those things will twist a half-elven mind to its limits.

Perhaps not even such baggage had to affect him anymore-- not now, and not ever.

//

“So, where do we start looking for someone who can make a Key crest, since even the chosen of this world doesn’t know?” Sheena’s question was not just hers, but everyone’s, only now spoken into tangible words.

 _‘Oh, great, holy angel of Cruxis, Mithos Yggdrasill! I call upon thee to bestow us with a hint about the promised Key crest!’_ Zelos’ thoughts are insincere, but there was no way he’d give in at this point and choose to treat Mithos with respect. After all, the chosen does not see the overlord of Cruxis as someone worthy of it in the _least_.

_‘Hmph. There’s a dwarf by the name of Altessa who resides just outside of Iselia. I suggest you look for him. I will give you directions, and you will follow them in sequence. The sooner I disconnect from you, the better.’_

_‘Right back at ya.’_

“So, how about we stop by the major cities and see if we can find any crafters? Gives us a chance to explore Sylvarant a little bit, too.” Zelos speaks and awaits further instruction from the nattering voice he so _hates_.

Regal’s brows droop, always a sign of his full agreement. “I suppose that option seems wise at this moment in time.”

“All in favour?” Nods ensue all around.

_‘Alright bro, give me a hint here.’_

_‘Western continent, walk to the top through the desert until you reach the woods. Or, I suppose you could use the Rheairds my gracious traitor gifted you.’_

“Well, anyone know where we can find a map of the city? Maybe we can throw a dart and decide what’s next.” Zelos jests, of course, much as he always does when struggling with things he has yet to speak of-- he already knows their destination, but for reasons that only infuriate him further, he must mull over it in silence instead.

Raine retrieves a piece of parchment from her bag; how convenient that at least _one_ of the six adventurers came prepared. “While you were off fooling around, I stocked up on items and necessities. I purchased this map to aid in our travels. You’re welcome.”

With the added visual, Zelos is able to get a sense for where this dwarf lives just as he was directed. “Let’s try crossing the ocean, eh? Maybe we can cut through the desert, see the cities there.”

Genis’ eyes scour the room for disagreement. “Well, looks like nobody’s got any better ideas.”

“Alright, then. Let’s go.”

In all of Zelos’ life, colluding with the enemy had never once been so mind-numbingly _irritating_.

//

Zelos’ interactions with Lloyd had grown stiflingly awkward since their run-in on the docks, which proved unfortunate in close quarters-- particularly now that they had been designated Rheaird partners. Thankfully, Zelos took the frontmost spot, and because his body was still more than halfway void of humanity, it was easy to ignore Lloyd’s presence as long as he stayed silent. For his own sanity, he counted on that the same way he counted the stars each night, as the difference between this Rheaird ride and the last one was a single detail alone. Between now and then, Zelos had finally stopped denying the most glaring reason he couldn’t wait to regain his sense of touch was because he longed to feel Lloyd’s skin against his own.

_‘My lord, you’re disgusting.’_

_‘Starting to think you’re jealous at this point, Mithos, my guy.’_

His laugh echoes throughout Zelos’ temples, ringing and pulsating like an _unfortunate_ case of tinnitus. _‘A sad, worthless excuse for a man lusting after a boy whose heart he will surely break out of pure stupidity? There’s nothing to be jealous of.’_

The Rheairds land on the western continent with grace; there is no _‘crash’, ‘bang’_ or _‘thud’_ in their conversion from air to land. The cleanliness of Sylvarant’s air certainly aids in the smooth transition, and Zelos counts feeling the cool, pure wind against his body as reason number two he nearly jumps out of his hollow skin at the thought of a Key crest.

“Well, that was easy. Looks like we’ve got a city right here.” Considering the intricacy of his outfit-- gloves, high-collared coat, and thick pants-- Lloyd is already beginning to sweat in the heat of the desert. It’s hardly much longer before he fiddles with seemingly countless rows of buckles to remove his jacket, revealing a black undershirt and a well-built physique.

“Damn… I’ve been wanting to do that for a while. I have no idea why Cruxis makes everyone wear such stupid outfits.”

_‘You hear that, Mithos? Lloyd thinks your outfits are stupid.’_

The party continues walking in the direction of the desert town, but Zelos can’t take his eyes off Lloyd's bare skin-- the first time he’s had even a glance at anything more than his head and neck.

_‘Remember how I said you were disgusting? Prime example.’_

_‘What? I’m not looking. You’re the one looking.’_

_‘The only way I can see your day to day activities is through_ your _eyes, Zelos Wilder.’_

An exasperated sigh, but not exasperated enough to draw attention to himself. _‘Dudes don’t normally interest me. Not that it’s never happened before, I just usually need to be pretty intoxicated. Lloyd’s different, though. I dunno why.’_

_‘Frankly, I don’t know what sickens me more: the idea that you’ll sleep with anyone who falls into your lap, or that your body count is as high as is considering how vile you are.’_

_‘Aw, thanks for that! Who knows, maybe you’ll even be next! You_ do _want my body,_ don’t you? _I’ll call you Lord Yggdrasill and everything.’_ Zelos even makes himself laugh with this statement and he’s grinning now, for better or for worse.

_‘I assume you’re joking, but if you’re trying to provoke me even more, it’s certainly working.’_

“Well, should we split up and ask around about a Key crest?”

Sheena’s voice returns the redhead to the world around him as he realizes they have made it through the stifling desert and into Triet already. Angelic dissociation strikes again, it seems.

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s get going, huh?” Zelos breaks from the group before a unanimous decision could be made, much less _any_ decision _at all_. He needed to get away from his growing shame, but more than that, as impossible as he knew it to be, he needed to get away from _himself_. Even angelic dissociation couldn't do that for him.

To Zelos, the city seemed to trail on endlessly as he walked through paths and corridors-- it didn’t, by any means, but when stuck inside his own head, everything felt nothing short of endless whether he found pleasure in it or not.

“You seem lost in thought. Why don’t you come sit with me, traveler?”

“Eh--” the redhead’s glance shoots to his left, where a woman in a flowing cape stands. He swears she wasn’t there before his gaze met hers, but there are no such things as surprises to him anymore. “Sorry babe, who are you?”

“A divinator. Perhaps I can lend you some clarity on your journey. I’ll even do it for free, since I can tell that you’re in need.”

Zelos couldn’t tell how she must have known that, but the fact that she did at all certainly proved that she was either the real deal or a very strategic guesser.

“Fine, I’ll bite.”

Retreating to her shop, a tarot deck is drawn and three single cards placed gently on the table sitting between Zelos and the divinator herself. He wanted to believe in divination, but he hardly believed in fate to begin with; by now, he hardly had any idea what to believe in _at all_. What he _couldn’t resist_ was the word _‘free’_ and the brief opportunity to get _out of his own head_.

“I’ve drawn three cards for you, but I want you to be the one to turn them over.”

Zelos squints in apprehension, but finds himself unable to resist. After all, a beautiful woman was offering her services to him free of charge-- how could he refuse?

“The Eight of Rods. Wanna tell me what this one means?”

She glances into his eyes before returning her focus to the cards. “You’ve traveled far at a rapid pace. What else is it that’s moving quickly for you right now?”

“I dunno, my entire damn life? It’s like every three days, there’s some kinda new crisis.”

“If you choose to slow down, then all you’ll be doing is missing opportunities. All you can do is embrace it, so long as you choose to do so, and I believe considering the trajectory of your life, that would be in your best interest.” 

“Roll with punches, then? I got it.”

A pause, long enough for the divinator to collect her thoughts and Zelos to process his own, whatever the hell they meant. “Draw the next card.”

“The Hanged Man. I don’t like the sounds of that.” He glances at the image of a man suspended by his feet and grimaces at the mere thought of a rush of blood to the head.

“You can calm yourself. All it means is that you’re feeling restricted. What is it that’s stopping you from moving forward?”

Zelos stares ahead, a blank slate with the answer scrawled in red ink below, and he can’t find the words to say next. He doesn’t have to say anything for her to understand.

“I see. It’s yourself.”

The edges of his mouth curl into a frown. “Well, _I_ didn’t want to be the one to say it.”

“It seems this isn’t news to you, then. You’ve been fighting against your own mind for longer than you can remember. This may not be a bad time to surrender, whether it be to yourself or something greater. You can reflect, but you need to move forward as well.” 

The same moment he raises a brow, she nods toward the final card.

His brows furrow once more upon seeing an image of a woman bound and blindfolded. “The Eight of Swords?”

“Fitting, based on the last card. This is a warning that your current thoughts and coping are no longer appropriate for the situation at hand. You are the creator of your own misery, but you will also be your own way out of it.”

“Gee, thanks.” Zelos rolls his eyes. “Speaking of rolling with punches...”

“I’m not done. You believe you’re a victim, that there’s nothing you can do to get out. That’s not true. Becoming open to solving the problem is the first step to overcoming it.”

“Hmm. So what do these cards all mean together, then?”

Her eyes meet his. “A picture painted of choices, consequences, and being trapped by your own mind. A lifetime spent making poor decisions and suffering from the results of them, and most of all, locked into place in a journey with no progress or change. You have the capacity to break the cycle, but first, you must break out of old habits.”

Zelos is laughing under his breath now. “Well, that certainly doesn’t make me sound like a good person, now does it?” 

“I believe that you’re a better person than you think you are, Zelos.”

He stops, frozen in place; despite knowing he _should,_ Zelos does not dare ask how she knows his name in the land of Sylvarant, where he could be anonymous once and for all-- beyond even this, he most certainly does not mention his fundamental disagreement with her statement to begin with. Perhaps the constant self-depreciation was one of the old habits he must break. After all, there were few other coping mechanisms she could be referring to, because he had few other coping mechanisms to begin with.

Maybe he could save himself, but that means _change_ , and the great Zelos Wilder certainly does _not_ take well to change.

“‘Kay. Thanks for this, hunny. You want me to throw you a couple Gald or something?”

She shakes her head. “No. Just take it and do with it what you must.”

Mithos’ voice rings loud as sirens and crystal clear. _‘Well, this was certainly a pointless detour.’_

_‘Well, maybe someone else found something out, aside from the fact that they’re a fundamentally screwed up human being.’_

_‘Come on, Zelos. There’s absolutely_ no way _you didn’t already know this.’_

_‘I’m going to start thinking of Lloyd in raunchy positions if you don’t screw off.’_

Zelos’ proverbial spitting match with his half-elven enemy is cut short as he returns to the city centre, revealing his companions all gathered in tow, ready to proceed to their next destination. “Well? Any big revelations? Big news? New ideas?”

Lloyd shakes his head. “No. I found out that there’s a city to the north who may have a better chance of being able to help us, but nothing here.”

 _‘Great, so this detour really_ was _pointless then. I already told you to go there, anyway.’_

“Fine. Let’s go,” he says to both men at once-- one with a tone like roses, the other like sandpaper. How fascinating the duality was, how three words could be spoken with _love_ and _hate_ at the very same time.

//

Iselia is closer to being a quaint village than a sprawling city, much unlike the last two Sylvaranti dwellings they had traversed so far. How Zelos wished he could have grown up somewhere like this rather than Meltokio, where he was thrust on display like an object rather than a living, breathing being. 

_‘Ha. Not that I fit that description anymore to begin with,’_ he muses in silence before Mithos initiates contact once more.

_‘I’m going to help you from here, at least until our interests diverge. You had best remember our agreement.’_

It hardly takes long for Zelos to eye a smiling, blonde youth near the schoolhouse who mustn’t have been over the age of fourteen. It takes even less time than that for a frown to spread across Zelos’ face far enough to rival the Grand Tethe’alla Bridge.

_‘Is that you? Man, you certainly don’t look like the big, mighty ruler of Cruxis now, do you?’_

_‘This is not Yggdrasill. This is Mithos, the hero. Now, prepare yourself to play nice, and I will do the same.’_

As soon as those words scramble a mile a minute through Zelos’ head, the boy approaches with a friendly smile on his face. Zelos feels like he’s about to vomit, and he almost wished that he could still eat so just so that he could expel the contents of his stomach onto the ground the moment their eyes locked. Much like Mithos in all his faux-innocence standing directly in front of him, that would certainly be a sight for sore eyes, _wouldn’t it?_

“Excuse me, you’re traveling mercenaries, right? Could you tell me where the nearest House of Guidance is?”

Genis feels uneasy, and he can’t place why until he begins to feel the same flow of cursed blood in the youth that plagued his own body-- a feeling grasped by only those who share those same unique sensations in each of their veins. Pulsating and rippling, he experiences the damned mana throbbing in tune with his own until he can’t take it anymore. Does he say anything and risk alienating the young boy, or miss the opportunity to form his first connection with someone like him?

It does not take long for Genis to choose the latter.

“Hey, you’re a half elf too, right?” he says, seeping equal parts churning anxiety and hopeful excitement in his innocent question. _Innocent_ , but terribly _loaded_ in perfect coalescence.

“I--” Nobody reacts well to being put on the spot about their most shameful secret, but despite a quick stumble, the boy before them handles it with grace. Much more grace and composure than Zelos could ever have believed Mithos possessed. 

“Yes, I am-- and I can tell that you are as well. Please, my name is Mithos. It’s nice to meet you.”

_‘Ask me to join you, Zelos.’_

Zelos frowns, his eyes turning to slits; the seemingly inconsequential change of facial expression is rendered undetectable to his friends. “Say, it’s dangerous for half-elves to travel by themselves. How about you come with us where we’re goin’?”

_‘One flaw in your plan, Mr. Big Bad. Isn’t Lloyd going to recognize you like this? He grew up in Cruxis.’_

Mithos’ eyes lock with Zelos for no more than a split second. _‘Lloyd has never seen me in my original form.’_

After a momentary pause, Mithos nods and grins a delicate smile. A _shit-eating grin_ , if Zelos had ever seen one.

“You’re _very_ kind to offer to bring me along with you. Where are you going?”

Sheena has the bright idea of asking the friendly pilgrim for some guidance of their own. If only she knew that this meek, mild half-elf was simply another beast in repose. “Say, maybe you could help us out with that. Do you know anything about Key crests, and maybe where we could find one?”

“Actually, there is a dwarf who lives a half hour’s walk to the north by the name of Altessa. I’ve been living in Iselia all my life and his craft is infamous here.”

 _‘My, oh_ my _, what a good liar you are, Mr. Big, Bad Cruxis Overlord!’_

Mithos’ eyes squint in Zelos’ direction, his malice rendered invisible to everyone around him. By now, the ever-so-subtle squints, glares, and frowns could nearly be considered a game between the two men. _‘I could say the same to you, Mr. Small, Pathetic Deserter of Tethe’alla.’_

_‘Another one of our oh-so-unfortunate shared traits, I suppose.’_

“Mithos, right? Do you think that maybe you could take us there?” Genis feels nervous around the other half elf, and it is nearly impossible to distinguish whether the flutters in his stomach are because of anything to do with Mithos, or if it was an internal knee-jerk reaction of his own volition.

“Well, I suppose I can. Here, why don’t I show you the way?” beckoning, he leads the party to the north.

_‘Man, can’t believe they all fell for such a weak story. You’re looking for a House of Guidance? Really, Mithos? Damn, I must be the only one out of the bunch who’s not too softhearted for their own good.’_

Mithos turns his head, throwing a subtle glance in Zelos’ direction. _‘You know, If you had released the next seal, you would have lost your voice. The great, booming Zelos Wilder, silent for all eternity.’_ He smiles a sly grin that no-one can see. _‘What a treat that would have been.’_

//

Even the mere act of traversing through the Sylvaranti forests was the polar opposite of doing so in their wilted, grey Tethe’allan counterparts. In stark contrast to the declining world, the northern treeline brimmed with wildlife that scampered in and out of the bushes, and more than anything else, all the trees still had all of their lush, emerald leaves. Aside from the glaringly obvious reasons-- being halfway lifeless, the worlds still cycling mana between each other, the leader of the organization that controls the world’s mind being melded into Zelos’ own-- nothing could have been better than this. _(However, as he thinks it into existence, having those reasons listed plain as day made Zelos realize that_ many _things could be better than this)._

“Mithos, what’s your experience been like growing up as a half-elf in this part of the world? Do you face a lot of discrimination?” Genis asks, curious as ever.

His fellow kinsman drags a quick inhale, his vision darting away like a predator fearing prey. Ironic, considering he was the former in every sense of the word. “Well… I was raised by my sister, who did her best to protect me from a lot of the hatred. I’m thankful that I had her there for me.”

“No way,” Genis’ eyes grow wide. “I was raised by my sister too, and she did the same for me. We pretended to be elves together until we were chased out of our city.”

Mithos nods his head in both agreement and shame. “Being a half-elf certainly isn’t easy.”

“Mithos,” the silver-haired boy’s growing nervousness is obvious before realizing its root cause was nothing to do with the other youth, but the fear of further rejection after a lifetime spent as nothing more than a casualty of discrimination. “Do you want to be friends?”

He’s taken off-guard by this request, but complies regardless; perhaps he could use this to his advantage. “Sure. I’ve never really had another half-elf friend before.”

“Great!” Genis exclaims, his voice ripe with supple hope and pure joy. “It’s the same for me too. I’ve never had a half-elf friend before, either.”

“In that case, I hope that we can be friends for a very long time.” While Genis sees this as a genuine connection in the making, Mithos only sees it as an opportunity.

Zelos doesn’t think to notice this interaction, as he’s caught up in a unique, budding world of his own. Mithos’ preoccupation with his new _prey_ gave the redhead an opportunity to be alone with Lloyd without that dreadful, shrill chatter that rang through his temples.

“Hey, bud. Sorry for taking off the other day.”

Lloyd shrugs, his shoulders drooping in exhaustion. “It’s fine, I was just surprised. Why were you in such a hurry, anyway?”

“Heh. Not sure how to answer that, honestly. Guess I was told recently that I’m the cause of all my own problems and I’m starting to realize that’s right.” Zelos Wilder doesn’t fall in love, until suddenly he does-- and then what?

“Not really sure what that means, but if you want to talk about it more, maybe once we get sitting down--”

The redhead is laughing in sync with the wind through the trees, but it’s not a _genuine_ laughter this time. “Maybe I just gotta start opening up more, but that’s _so_ unlike me.”

“Well, you seem to open up to me okay.” Lloyd is right, but Zelos isn’t particularly pleased about it.

“You’re different though, bud.”

Lloyd furrows his brows in confusion, taken aback by such an uncharacteristically _forward_ statement from the chosen. “What does that mean?”

“Don’t worry about it, man. That’s a conversation for some other time, possibly involving a _lot_ of alcohol.”

Zelos is lucky that the brunette is as clueless as he is. “Man, it’s impossible to get a straight answer out of you. You keep saying weird, cryptic stuff.”

He’s patting Lloyd on the back now, and the harsh, impersonal gesture never fails to to _annoy_ the target of his desire. “What can I say? I already told you, I’m a man of mystery. Now, let’s get heading along on our merry way, shall we?”

He knew that before long Mithos would be back to torment him, and _Goddess,_ how he wished he hadn’t deflected all of his time with Lloyd in gripping retrospect. But of course, here he goes again with those self-regulating systems designed for perseverance and nothing more-- they certainly didn’t do Zelos and his newfound infatuations any favours. If anything, if things kept up like this, all he would do is push him further and further away; even that thought alone made him want to dig his fingernails under the mask he stitched himself and tear it from his skin.

Easier said than done.

“Hey, is this the dwarf’s house?”

Zelos’ attention is drawn back to his surroundings, and sure enough, a two-storey house stood in the distance, inviting them to draw only nearer.

“Either that, or we’re in the middle of some cabin-in-the-woods horror story. I’m not ready to die yet!” Zelos whines, still ever playful in spite of his overwhelming desire to jump out of his numb, unfeeling body. Again, with the defense mechanisms-- clearly, he hadn’t learned a single thing.

“No, this is it. Despite living in the middle of the woods, Altessa will usually help stray travelers such as yourselves.” Mithos states, his voice matter-of-fact in a way that calms the nerves of everyone in the party, save for Zelos, who only grows more _irritated_ . _Playing nice_ had never been more _soul-sucking_.

Mithos is _knock-knock-knocking_ on the door now, and every tap echoes down to the wooden frame. It hardly takes any time at all for the door to open in agonizingly slow fashion, but when it finally does, all seven companions stand face-to-face with a young girl whose face spoke tales of sorrow and emptiness.

“Hello, travelers. Is there something I can help you with?” she asks, her vision concealed in part by pink bangs that hang lifelessly in front of her eyes.

“Yes, actually. We’re looking for a dwarf named Altessa. We were hoping to have a key crest crafted for one of our friends.” Raine takes the simplest possible route to explain their story of fighting, fear, and fleeing, brushing over any of the fine details. There was no point in disclosing the ins-and-outs of their journey before they knew whether the dwarf would even aid them in the first place.

“If you allow me a moment, I will ask Altessa himself. How about you come inside?”

Nods ripple throughout the heads of Zelos’ group before the young girl leads them from the outskirts of deep woods into the halls of the dwarf’s home. She hardly looked old enough to be working for a dwarf, but perhaps that’s how Sylvarant runs their businesses; after all, Zelos considered himself a sleazy guy, but he was still taught better than to make assumptions.

“Travelers. You seek a key crest?” An older man’s humble speech boomed from the stairwell, and as he descended, his body crept into full view. Clad in ice blue robes with a beard that stretched down to his waist, everything about his appearance embodied what a dwarf must look like in Zelos’ mind. He could only help but wonder if he presented anything like what a chosen must look like in everyone else’s heads.

“Yeah. My crystal’s all messed up,” Zelos says without a shred of emotion in his voice. The fact that Mithos was standing _right there_ in front of him made the redhead increasingly cautious of the information he was disclosing-- not because he didn’t already know, but because he knew it was vital to keep up the facade of a him being part of a happy, smiley, _fake_ family until the key crest was crafted and he could boot Mithos out of his head _with force_.

Glancing at the chosen from top to bottom, Altessa gives a harsh pause before continuing. “Hmm. Exspheres are not commonplace in this world. Why do you possess one in this flourishing world of Sylvarant?”

_‘Oh, I am certainly interested in seeing how you handle this. Don’t break our phony disguise, now.’_

Zelos is the one pausing at this point, thinking on his feet even more so than he does in most straightforward situations. As unfortunate as it was, this situation was anything _but_ straightforward.

“I’m a mercenary. I found one of these and equipped it without a Key crest. Terrible, awful, no-good mistake on my end.”

“If you know anything about exspheres, then I do not need to be the one to tell you that you’re correct. You’re lucky though, mercenary-- for I may be the only one left in Sylvarant who still knows the lost art of crafting Key crests.”

Zelos squints, uncertain if that was agreement or merely validation of his crisis. “So, does this mean you’re gonna help me out here? We can pay you big bucks. We’re oozing Gald. Mercenaries and all.”

“I suppose the options are to either help you, or to allow you to succumb to the inevitable death that comes along with an exsphere lacking a Key crest. I may have seen many come and go in my lifetime, but I am certainly not cold-hearted.” Gesturing to the girl with blushing pink pigtails, he says “I will allow you to stay here until the job is complete. Presea, prepare the rooms for our guests.”

Zelos is nearly in shock, because it’s finally _almost over_. One step closer to feeling again. One step closer to the pure air breezing against his body. One step closer to the sensation of Lloyd’s skin against his.

And most of all, one step closer to being alone in his own head again-- something he never thought he’d miss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a tarot reader and I actually drew these three cards from my deck just for that scene. The More You Know
> 
> [My commentary on this chapter: brags, regrets, and trivia!](https://twitter.com/flambydelrabies/status/1294281371091906560)


	7. Vivisection of Venus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for a lot of things in this chapter: more discussion of suicide, a past suicide attempt, description of Zelos’ father’s death and… attempted murder on a minor character. I duly apologize
> 
> Now with commentary in end A/N.

_“There is nothing at all in your soul_  
_except a cry for help.”_

_\- C.S. Lewis_

//

_‘Zelos, are you afraid to die?’_

Mithos’ voice rings through the chosen’s head like the bang of a gong as the two men sit across from each other in silence. There was little else to do at the dwarf’s simplistic residence while playing the waiting game, after all; Lloyd and Genis were training together outside, Raine scoured through volumes of books about dwarven technology, and neither Sheena nor Regal had any interest in his antics-- not that he could blame them. However, this left none other than two mortal enemies already conjoined by the head to be stuck at the hip, as well-- few things could be _worse_ , in Zelos’ mind.

Zelos squints at the boy only feet away in acknowledgement, pensive in response to having something so grave, albeit _fascinating_ , sprung on him out of the blue.

_‘Can’t say I’ve ever been asked that before. Depends on the day of the week, phases of the moon, or how I’m feelin’ that day, I guess. Why?’_

_‘I suppose I just want to know how much fear I’ll see in your eyes the day I take your spirit, life, and body.’_

Their miserable back-and-forth is pierced directly in two by the voice of Altessa’s assistant ringing through their ears instead, clear as day.

“Mercenary, Altessa requests your presence.”

_‘Finally, something to do other than sit and stare at you.’_ Zelos glares at the youth with as much force as he could manage before Presea leads him up the wooden stairs, each step creaking softly upon impact.

Reaching Altessa’s workshop, his eyes lock with the dwarf as they stand face-to-towering-face, and the chosen allows himself to drop his guard at long last. After all, even if he couldn’t escape Mithos in his head, at least he wasn’t stuck _staring at him_ anymore.

“Mercenary, I would like to look at your exsphere to craft your key crest.” Zelos’ lie was about to come crashing down around him, but if it was just going to be the two of them together, alone, then keeping up appearances didn’t matter the way it did around his friends.

“Sure thing, boss.”

Upon thorough inspection, Altessa appeared so starstruck by the gem enmeshed with the redhead’s skin that he stopped to examine it twice-- Zelos nearly felt as though the dwarf were on the verge of retrieving a scalpel and beginning a true process of dissection. There was no doubt in his mind that this was likely the most interesting thing to happen within Altessa’s walls in _eons_.

“Hmm.” Altessa stops, and so does Zelos’ breath.

“I’m not sure where you found this, but you didn’t pick up an exsphere. This is a Cruxis crystal.”

“Huh. You don’t say.” 

The dwarf looks him in the eyes with haste, puzzled as ever, and his bewilderment only grows stronger with each passing second. “I have only once seen a reaction comparable to this. You’re not a mercenary.”

Folding his arms firmly across his chest, Zelos both figured and _feared_ this trip to Altessa’s was not going to be a simple, straightforward, _‘here’s your key crest, thanks, goodbye’_ experience. He assumed correctly, and now, the only reasonable step forward was to confess.

“Do you know who I am, then?”

A slow, rhythmic nod. “The only explanation for this is that you’re the chosen of the declining world.”

Zelos chuckles under his breath. “Well, that saves me an explanation of my own then. Are you still able to fix it?”

“I have done much work with Cruxis crystals in my time with that damned organization. My assistant, Presea, was one whom I saved from the confines of these gems.” His voice is raspy, yet full of increasing conviction with each word spoken. Clearly, he knew what he was doing, meaning yet another thing Mithos was correct about-- a satisfaction that Zelos certainly didn’t want the half-elf to feel.

“Neat. Was Presea a past chosen too, then?”

Altessa shakes his head in silence. “No. Presea was an experiment of Cruxis. They were attempting to make a newer, stronger form of Key crest to contain the toxicosis, and my crest was successful on her.”

_‘I suppose I’ll fill in the blanks for you. Her sickness was relatively minor compared to mine. As such, the crest was unfit for my body, and thus, a failure.’_

He shoos away Mithos as quickly as he resurfaced, as his conversation with Altessa proved _far_ more interesting. 

“When do you think it’ll be ready? I gotta say, I sure do miss being a _functional human being._ ” Zelos smirks, but he can’t joke about his desire to regain the vast network of simple, basic functions he spent twenty-two years taking for granted anymore; only so much one can stab at something until piercing it directly through the heart.

Altessa knows exactly what he must do, and he prepares his workstation with weathered hands. “It will be a couple of days at most. You are free to make use of my home in that time. I’m aware you have half-elves among you, and that the world is not kind to them. You may ask Presea for anything you need.”

If Zelos could feel, he’d be relishing in sweet relief right now-- in the meantime, he knows that he really will be celebrating soon, and that relief will never have been sweeter.

Descending the stairs with a new feeling of righteousness blooming through his mind, Zelos takes his previous seat across the room from Mithos. They sit exactly fifteen feet away from each other down to the very millimetre-- the tension between the two mortal enemies was so deafening, it could be _heard_ even from such a distance away.

_‘So, what is it that makes you tick, Zelos Wilder?’_

Zelos raises a brow, reclining against the wall behind him without a care in the world. _‘What are you asking, exactly,_ Sir Mithos Yggdrasill, _dashing and daring angel of Cuxis?’_

_‘I mean, tell me about yourself, all your darkest fears.’_

_‘Nah. I think you already have enough dirt on me.’_

Mithos’ eyes turn to slits, his gaze never waving from the man across the room. _‘I’ll tell you what. If you show me yours, then I’ll show you mine.’_

_‘Wow. That’s a pretty hefty offer coming from you. But I guess I’m curious to see how someone could ever end up as nasty as the lord of Cruxis himself.’_

_‘Then you go first.’_

The frown spilled across Zelos’ face nearly drips onto the floor. _‘No way. You’re just gonna take off after and not hold up your end of the bargain.’_

_‘Hmph. You have my word that I won’t, then, chosen.’_

_‘Fine. I’ll_ show you mine _, then.’_

//

Mylene Wilder's flowing, white dress engulfed her like a funeral pyre as she wed the man she despised with every fiber of her being. Even the mere thought of the chosen made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end in the worst ways she could ever have imagined. _‘Distaste’_ was too weak of a word; _‘animosity’_ and _‘pure hostility’_ better summed up the phenomenon of a life lost. 

Cold, cutting, and cruel, she spent her days snipping the budding flowers off of rose bushes and wishing she could have been anyone else. Few could blame her; after all, not a single piece of her life was decided of her own free will. Once it was determined that she was to marry the chosen, her life was effectively over-- she had become doomed only to carry on the mana lineage and nothing more. No dreams, no hopes, no plans, and a future that bleak would certainly turn anyone’s heart as grim as Mylene’s. And then when her son was born, she hated him, too.

Fragile little Zelos was nearly the spitting image of his father with his shaggy, ruby-red hair; he was youthful and so, _so_ innocent until the day came that he wasn't anymore. He ceased to be the day his father was found curled up on the linoleum splashed in blood, rotting on the ground like the leftover saliva that pooled in the former chosen's wake everywhere he went. After all, in Tethe’alla, the chosen could make the entire world his damn _toilet_ if he so chose. Instead, the day of the oracle, Mylene found him on the floor with a dagger protruding from his wrist, and all she could think is what a bother it was going to be to clean up all the blood. 

When his father died, Zelos was far from too young to understand death, but he had never heard the word _‘suicide’_ before. Nobody wanted to speak of the chosen’s passing to his seven-year-old son, but that certainly didn’t stop him from hearing the whispers around Meltokio’s aristocracy. 

_‘The king announced the chosen’s death today. How tragic.’_

_‘I heard that it was suicide.’_

Suicide.

He had heard many words ascribed to his father in the past that he did not understand; _‘Bipolar Disorder’, ‘adulterer’, ‘philanderer’, ‘manic state’,_ and some that came from his mother that he only could assume were far more scathing. But _‘suicide’_ , however, was more than unfamiliar in all his childlike innocence.

_“Mommy, what does suicide mean?”_

_“Something done only by weak, foolish people like your father.”_

He stands next to his half-sister at the funeral, a girl born out of his father’s love for another woman. Zelos couldn’t understand how two people could wed and have a child without love, but once he is crowned Tethe’alla’s new chosen, he begins to understand many things he couldn’t before.

Watching people come and go to pay their respects only made him feel sick, because Zelos knew that he must have known his distant, yet _uncontrollable_ father only marginally better than the people who came and went throughout the funeral home. As people pass Zelos and Seles standing by the casket and pay their _‘I’m sorry’_ s he begins to despise their looks of pity, until he grips his sister’s hand and shuts his eyes.

_“Hi.”_

The newfound chosen’s eyes become wide once more, faced by a girl with ashy black hair and friendly eyes. Too cheery for a funeral, he thought. She was probably less familiar with death than he was.

_“Who are you?”_

_“My name’s Sheena. The chief of Mizuho brought me here to pay respects to the chosen. So, I'm paying my respects.”_

_“Okay. Nice to meet you, Sheena.”_

_“I don’t really have any friends around my age in Mizuho. Do you want to be my friend?”_

_“Okay. I’ve never made a friend at a funeral before.”_

_“Me neither. Let’s play together sometime, okay?”_

The chief of Mizuho at her side beckons the child away with a promise that they will meet again, and they do.

Simply put, it wasn’t his father’s death itself that changed his life-- it was the aftermath. For everything that stayed the same after the former chosen’s untimely death, a million more things changed in ways he only despised. While Zelos existed before only to continue the mana lineage-- assuming his father’s completion of the journey, of course, now that he had stepped directly into his father's world, every single aspect of his life has been predetermined down to the very food he ate. Any meal that had not been prepared within his bodyguards’ line of vision was to be meticulously checked for poison, and the attacks made on his life had to be in the double digits by the time his age had made it to double digits to begin with. By the time the third bodyguard lost their life protecting him, the chosen had learned not to grow too attached to anyone.

By the time he was ten, even his mere existence had a body count.

The idea of having friends was laughable, as who knows what their motives may be. _‘Trust no one’_ , he was taught, _‘because that is the only way for a chosen to survive’_. Zelos, however, did not listen-- instead, he trusted one person.

_“Thanks for coming to play today, Sheena!”_

_“Here, I have something for you, Zelos!”_

The chosen’s eyes grow in excitement.

_“Wow! Nobody’s ever got me flowers before!”_

_“I’ll come again soon! Bye Zelos!”_

Giddy laughter and smiles ensue like puppy love, only to be cut down by the only woman who was able to viscerally terrify him to his core.

_“Children should be seen and not heard, Zelos. This is unbecoming of the next chosen of Tethe’alla.”_

Mylene snatches the flowers from his tiny hands and throws them to the furnace; she may as well have lit them ablaze. The more Zelos began to discover about the chosen system, the more he realized that Mylene tried to break him into the smallest, most compartmentalized version of himself because that’s exactly what the church did to her. It didn’t make her treatment of him any better, but it certainly made him _understand_.

Everything Zelos’ mother did to him was equally as guelling as it was frigid and cruel. He always particularly dreaded piano lessons, when she would tower over his shoulder like a watchdog and analyze his technique under a microscope until he got it right. “Right”, to Mylene, was nothing short of perfection. He was convinced there was no point to it besides sheer humiliation, and when dissected through any other lens, there really wasn’t.

_“No. Try again.”_

The harder he tried, the more his fingers fumbled against the keys, causing beautiful melodies to become flurried with mistakes. Not only an embarrassment to himself, but to Mother as well.

_“Again.”_

Tears creep into the corners of his eyes and threaten to spill down his face-- something he knew would surely only aggravate her further.

_“Again.”_

To this day, the word _again, again, again_ rings through his head in Mylene’s voice with every mistake he makes.

Zelos doesn’t know if he loved his mother. He doesn’t know if he had ever loved anyone, for that matter, but he couldn’t name a single pleasant memory he had of her following his father’s death. For someone who couldn’t wait to be free of the former chosen’s chains, she grew only colder and more cruel after his passing-- and Zelos was the one to feel it like a constant knife to his throat _(or, perhaps, his wrist; how fitting)_. He thought, sometimes, that he couldn’t wait for her to die too, even just to free him from the ever-spinning feedback loops she had created in his head.

Mylene’s death itself, however, was one thing he never anticipated. When you spend every night wishing they could have taken Mother instead of Father, what do you do when that reality actually comes, and then suddenly, they’re both gone?

He’d never seen as much blood before as the splatter that covered the sidewalks, the snow, and then spilled onto his clothes in gruesome fashion. The way the white snow was tainted with the stain of red made him feel sick to the point where even snowflakes made him dry heave for many years following. His hair stank of blood for weeks, even after scrubbing himself raw. 

Zelos began to realize that there are some kinds of blood that can never be washed away.

_“You should never have been born.”_

_“You couldn’t be more right about that, Mother,”_ he begins to think in return.

That day he learned what the word _‘orphan’_ meant, and when he cried out to the Goddess, no-one answered.

By the time he turned eighteen, he’d discovered he had a new kind of body count. Everyone wanted to be associated with the chosen, whether they appreciated him for who he was or not-- it was certainly more often _not_ . He discovered then, it’s not about who you are, it’s your _title_ , your _qualifications_ , your _mask_ that gets you what you want. _‘Zelos Wilder’_ on his own is completely worthless, but _‘Zelos Wilder, Chosen of Tethe’alla’_ allows his hands to grasp anything he could possibly ask for.

It’s not who you are-- it’s _what you are_.

Sheena had asked him to be with her, and he agreed. After all, the ‘childhood friends’ trope is _classic_ , and there’s no way he could say no to a pretty face. He was the boy, she was the girl, and he’s supposed to fall in love on that principle alone. He was comfortable enough, as was she, but that didn’t stop him from making the same mistakes that passed through his bloodline. The external validation of someone wanting you and trailing their lips among yours was too much for him to resist, even at the cost of the only true friendship he’d ever had.

_What_ he was is _‘just like his father’_.

_“Chosen, we have received word from the church that the oracle is to come in two years. This should give you adequate time to wrap up your affairs and prepare for the journey of regeneration.”_

His father’s selfishness meant the task Cruxis had graciously gifted to him in a box with a neat little bow was passed to Zelos instead, with no care for whether he wanted it or not. If it were up to him, then he’d take that neat little box and throw it out the same way Mylene cut the flowers from the bushes. He didn’t want this, and he never did. When he looks to the sky, he thinks about the Goddess who ignored every prayer he’d ever made and thinks _‘why not someone else?’_. Zelos can’t tell if it’s because he thinks he’s unworthy or just cursed.

_“If I can’t live my life for myself, then why live it at all?”_

He can’t believe after everything his father put him through that the thought would even cross his mind, but here he is, dagger pointed directly at the crook of his arm.

_“Wonder what would happen if I just pushed down. Wonder if it would be an instant death or if i’d just suffer and survive.”_

Curiosity takes hold of him, but does not take him very far; he reclines, blood dripping gently from his wrist. A blood different from the stain of red strewn over the snow that day, but he would _never_ be able to explain _why_.

He remembers what Mother said-- suicide is only for weak people, like his father. So what does that make someone like him who tries, but can’t? Are they strong, are they weak, or are they something in between?

_“Sheena, there’s someone I want you to meet. Or, to meet again, I suppose. This is my sister, Seles.”_

Seles turns to him, her eyes filled with an emotion he can’t place.

_“She’s way too good for you, Zelos.”_

_“I know.”_

The gauze and bandages around Zelos’ arm catch Sheena’s attention.

_“What the hell happened, Zelos?”_

_“Nah, it’s cool, hunny. Nothing you need to be worried about.”_

_“Why is it so hard for you to trust me?”_

_“You don’t get it, do you, Sheena?”_

Clearly, she doesn’t, as the silence between them rings through their ears.

_“I’m doomed! It’s not worth it for me to get attached to anyone, because they all leave, and then after, I have to go do this stupid journey anyway! I dunno why you’re so invested in me, but that’s just the way life is. All it does is teach you that you’re all alone.”_

_“When did I ever say I was going anywhere? I’ve tried so hard for so many years, but you just can’t let me in! And you know what? At this point, it’s not my problem, it’s yours!”_

_“Then go! I don’t care!”_

_“Fuck you, Zelos!”_

_“You know what? Fuck you too, then, Sheena!”_

As they parted ways, much like the flowers she picked for them as children, something beautiful was killed out of his own selfish desire, and thus, the self-fulfilling prophecy completes itself. Then, when he looks at Lloyd, whose eyes spoke the same narrative as hers once did, he knows that he’s just going to cycle through the same self-regulating system, except this time it was going to cut deeper than ever before because he _felt something back._

He’s going to ruin it all, just the way he was born to. 

Mylene would be so proud.

//

_‘My, is your life not poetic, Zelos Wilder?’_

Zelos is squinting in confusion now, unsure how to gauge whatever words had just slipped from Mithos’ mouth. They could only have been malicious at best, but that didn’t stop Zelos from giving him the benefit of the doubt-- after all, he did just share his darkest secrets. _‘I wish my life were poetic. Feel like it’s more of a tragedy than anything else.’_

_‘Interesting, your belief that no-one could ever love you. While I would agree in theory, that doesn’t seem to be the case.’_

_‘That was the last time Sheena and I talked before being sent on the journey together. Maybe I should finally clear the air.’_ He scowls, disregarding the thought for the very reason that it was spoken to the person he despised most. _‘Why am I even talking to_ you _about this, of all people?’_

_‘Looking at your sob-story, I see why you would be tortured by your pathetic feelings for Lloyd. That certainly still doesn’t stop me from finding them incredibly amusing.’_

Zelos is no longer glaring in confusion and now glares out of spite. _‘Shut the hell up, man. You still haven’t held up your end of the bargain.’_

_‘I suppose you want to know how I became the overlord of Cruxis.’_

Now, the redhead is chuckling-- there’s nobody in the room to call him out on it, so there was no reason to hide his reactions anymore.

_‘Tell me about yourself, man. I mean, depending on how far this mind-sharing crap goes, I could probably even reach in there and do a little digging myself.’_

_‘There is no need for that. I plan to hold up my end of this agreement. Are you ready, chosen?’_

_‘Bring it on.’_

//

Mithos did not remember the touch or the face of his mother. Instead, for as long as he could remember, it had only been Martel.

Heimdall did not often let half-elves take shelter within the city limits during the ancient war; considering the false belief that all half-elves were the cause of the strife and fighting to begin with, when anyone displayed prejudice toward those of such _unfortunate_ blood, there was simply no arguing. Humans ruled, half-elves were the dirt they stepped on, and anyone who tried to dispute such a system was considered worthy of oppression themselves. The fact that Mithos and Martel were given an opportunity to live in Heimdall in this climate was nearly _unheard of_.

The half-elves’ human father had been drafted as a soldier and their elven mother was a casualty of war, long since gone and leaving Martel to care for her younger brother alone. As a child, Mithos could not rest without Martel singing softly in his ears; as he grew older, parenting Mithos became less of her role and she began to revert from _‘mother’_ back to _‘older, wiser sister’_ , despite having filled both duties at different times.

Back then, Sylvarant and Tethe’alla were not two separate worlds, but two warring continents, and one walking around openly as a half-elf may as well put a bright red target on their back. More than that, before Mithos was Yggdrasill, leader of Cruxis, he was Mithos, the hero.

In the land of Heimdall, Mithos had grown up without knowledge of his cursed blood, nor any reason to fear for his life because of it. There were whispers among the elders that he knew set him apart from the rest of the children, but he had been shielded from the reality of the world beyond Ymir forest until the day came where everything changed.

The climate of the world beyond the forest could no longer be ignored; Heimdall’s change of heart left Mithos and his sister stranded in the forest, and Mithos learned the difference between elves and half-elves. Reality came crashing down that this world was not meant for people like them.

_“Martel, what does it mean to be a half-elf?”_

_“It means that we’re different, Mithos. But I’m here, no matter what.”_

The world was against them as the siblings traveled from place to place with no money to their name, sleeping in bushes and drinking muddied water. Every single city in Aselia had turned them away. 

Every stumble, Martel was there; forever the problem solver, the caretaker, the hand to lift him up when he needed it most. When he was with her, even the taste of dirt from the forests could be made sweet, but nothing dulled the pain of seeing the bodies of half-elves strewn openly through the fields. No-one ever came to claim these eternal Jane Does whose corpses decomposed on display.

_“Y-you need… to stop the attack...”_

_“What!? What attack? Hold on! Speak to me!”_

_“The capital city… Meltokio… Sylvarant is coming...”_

A half-elf wouldn’t lie to a fellow kinsmen, and despite no other visible leads, Mithos knew in his heart that he must listen to the dying Jane Doe’s pleas, because no-one else would. After all, this world was not made for people like them.

_“Please! We need to see the King!”_

_“Two half-elves requesting the presence of the King? You must be joking. Guards, take them!”_

Defeated, the siblings could only wonder if the King truly would rather the city fall into destruction than lend an ear to half-elves.

_“I can help you attain an audience with the King.”_

_“Who are you? You don’t mind that we’re half-elves?”_

_“My name is Kratos, captain of the Royal Knights. What has brought you to the castle, half-elves?”_

_“We need to warn the King that there’s going to be an attack on Meltokio, and nobody will listen!”_

Kratos listens. The King does not. Instead, he laughs them out of the court and threatens to strip Kratos his title, because as if Mithos wasn’t cursed enough, everyone who ever crossed his path must suffer as well. The half-elf does not know why the knight chooses to believe him, but it is the first time anyone other than Martel has.

Nothing helps. Nothing works. Half-elves, _worthless_ creatures, living _jokes_. Melokio is burning to the ground now, not just because of the mindless war, but because nobody chose to hear the words of the siblings.

Maybe if not for his cursed blood, those people wouldn’t have to die. There must be a way for everyone, half-elves and all, to live in harmony-- right?

If Martel wished it to be so, then he did too; Aselia cried for an idealist in the same way Mithos cried for a world without discrimination. Can a half-elven boy barely a day over fourteen save a world that despises him?

Perhaps the need for a hero and the need for a new world order could coexist. 

Perhaps Mithos could do both. 

Kratos stuck by his side, somehow, and Sylvaranti military officer Yuan Ka-Fai joined their ranks as another clumsy idealist, hoping to end the war and discrimination in tow. How does one stop a war that had raged for eons?

_“Kratos, if anything happens to me, I want you to watch over Mithos.”_

_“You entrust me with a difficult task, Martel.”_

_“Mithos trusts you, and I worry about his fragile heart.”_

Mithos stirs next to the fire and immediately, his companions grow quiet. They don’t believe he heard them, but anxiety shoots through his system at the thought of life without Martel. He would rather the war take him than a single soul touch her.

Yuan loved Martel, and she loved him in return. They planned to have a beautiful wedding unlike anything Mithos had ever seen, and all he wanted was to see the smile on his sister’s face as she said _‘I do’_. Deep within himself, Mithos detested Yuan, even in spite of his loyalty to their cause, but Yuan believed in the young boy, becoming one of the few who did.

Alas, the sparkle in Martel’s eyes is the only thing that mattered.

Everything happened so fast, it was unclear when the war ended and tragedy began. One moment the eternal sword split Tethe’alla and Sylvarant into two, and the next, Martel is on the ground surrounded by ruthless humans and there’s blood on their hands. The colour of _red_ seeps into the ground and nourishes the soil with the blood of a Goddess; it burns into the hero’s eyesight, and shortly after, it engulfs his vision entirely.

When his sight returns, there are countless bodies on the ground and he doesn’t even know whose blood is on his own hands anymore. Martel’s words ring through his head until he can’t hear anything else.

_“I want to see a world without discrimination.”_

So did he, but now that he knew what it was like to end a life, he felt intoxicated with a power he’d never experienced before. More than that, now that he’d lost his only reason to live, he desperately needed to find something to hold onto so that Martel’s vision did not die in vain.

Mithos was no longer a victim, and in the same vein, he was no longer a hero.

The tip of his sword lay silently upon his next fatality’s neck: a member of his new organization who displeased him.

_“You are no longer useful to me.”_

It is the nature of intelligent life to destroy itself, and it is the nature of intelligent life to destroy others, but none of that mattered to him. Instead, all he cared about was that he was now drunk on the same shade of crimson that used to terrify him.

Time went on-- decades passed, though certainly not centuries. Every day was the same to him. Each day felt like a second as eons dragged without Martel, and that’s when he noticed the speckles of green that began to litter his skin.

The first chosen to ever complete the journey was still unsuccessful. The process of the mana transfer was unrefined by that point, and a myriad of chosen completed the journey before it was perfected. Mithos could no longer count how many people had lost their lives at his hands, much less indirectly so. Piles of bodies of the _failure_ chosen scattered through his lair in the sky, unfeeling and comatose, until the process was rendered faultless at last.

It was two thousand years ago, but to Mithos, it could have been anywhere between seconds and millennia. However long it may be, his new body had been created in the image of perfection, and he would never forget the look of terror in the eyes of the chosen unfortunate enough to be his vessel.

He could always tell when they were afraid to die, even if they could no longer feel. 

He couldn’t wait to see Martel again, to look her in the eyes, to feel her embrace, and he’d already lost his mind enough that he was blind to the fact that she would never have wanted any of this.

Mithos was no longer a victim, no longer a hero, not even a shell of the fourteen year old boy who saved the world.

Instead, he had become nothing short of a beast.

//

_‘There’s a lot I could say about all that, but I gotta say, that Yuan guy is pretty shady, sticking by you for a couple thousand years only to betray you at the last minute.’_

Mithos crosses his legs, eyes drooping in discontent. _‘I am aware of this.’_

_‘I can tell you that I have no idea what he’s try’na do, considering he went from trying to kill us to helping us out.’_

Scrunching his brows, the half-elf no longer appears malicious so much as he appears confused. _‘I did not hear about nor order_ any _attempt on your life.’_

_‘Yeah. Showed up with a bunch of guys at one of the temples saying he was gonna kill us, then I didn’t see him again until he showed up wanting to help us. Weird dude.’_

_‘So he’s the leader of the Renegades, then-- the only explanation that makes sense. What an interesting discovery. Not only did he betray me by allowing you imbeciles to use our facilities, but he has been leading an organization that so directly opposes mine right under my nose.’_

The redhead glares; frankly, that may as well have been his default expression around Mithos, as every time his grating voice rang through Zelos’ head, he only became _pissed off_. 

_‘So, you got any plans for dealing with a traitor in your ranks, or are you just gonna keep letting it happen?’_

_‘You’re correct, this must be dealt with. I will simply have to decide on an appropriate time to do so.’_ Mithos is lifting himself onto his feet, pattering toward the door with ease. _‘Now, I believe that it’s time we disconnect for a while, at least as much as possible. I’ve had enough of you for now.’_

_‘Ha. Then will you allow me to talk to Lloyd in_ peace and quiet _, by any chance?’_

The half-elf is shutting the door behind him, but not without shooting a sharp glance of _disapproval_ in Zelos’ direction. _‘So long as you don’t say anything that piques my interest.’_

_‘Okay. Go screw yourself too, then.’_

Zelos stares out the window, watching Lloyd train rigorously with Genis by his side. He was surprised by how fast the brat had picked up on the intricate art of swordplay, and even more than that, he was amazed by how gentle of a teacher Lloyd was despite the brutal onslaught of his blades. He knew that better than anyone; how silly it was for Zelos to think he would long for the touch of someone whose sword was pointed at his neck long enough ago to feel like yesterday.

The two boys are finishing up in unison, sheathing their blades and wiping beads of sweat from their foreheads. Zelos can’t take his eyes off of Lloyd; it was almost as though the moment that he validated his feelings for the gentle idealist, those same feelings were all he could think about, and he _hated_ himself for it. After all, Zelos Wilder does not trust, until suddenly, he does. Zelos Wilder doesn’t show weakness, until he does. Most of all, Zelos _fucks, flirts, and philanders,_ but he doesn’t fall in love until he’s in too deep and dreads what comes next.

“Hey, Zelos. Mind if I sit with you?”

At his side now is none other than the person he had just dreamed flighty, foolish reveries of; it was almost as though he’d spoken this into existence.

“Sure thing. What’s up there, bud?”

Lloyd shrugs, brushing tiny strands of messy hair out of his face as he puts his buckled coat back on; Zelos is surprised that he even hung onto that thing at all. “Just wanted to chat, I guess. I was thinking of the talk we had yesterday.”

Chuckling, the redhead leans his head against the wall behind him. “Which one? We had a couple’a interesting ones, if I remember correctly.” He did, and he couldn’t forget even for a second. After all, the only other time he had ever worn his heart on his sleeve, he had a dagger pointed at the tessellation of veins in his wrist.

“You mentioned not being able to open up to people, but that I was different. If it’s okay to ask, why is that?”

Zelos thinks back to all the memories he and Mithos had shared, and he was beginning to realize that not coming to terms with the _shit that keeps you up at night_ is the first step to becoming someone-- or some _thing_ like the cruel overlord who does as he pleases.

“Well, if I’m gonna attempt the whole _‘opening up to people’_ thing, I might as well start with you, then. You could say my childhood wasn’t so hot and I learned pretty quickly that putting on a mask was the only way to get by. Never been able to take it down since.” He pauses long enough to realize he has nothing more to say. So shortly ago he had vivisected himself for his mortal enemy to see, but he hadn’t heard his own heartbeat in long enough that he was beginning to doubt whether it still existed at all.

“I mean, I know you well enough by now to know that. But I guess that still just doesn’t answer my question of _‘why me’_.”

Zelos had been criticized in the past for speaking in cryptic tongues, but there was no way he was going to simply come out and say _‘oh Goddess, in the relatively short time I’ve known you, I seem to have developed feelings I’ve never had before, and all I want is to finally feel the touch of your skin against mine’_ . Even though he longed to speak those words into existence, that just wouldn’t be his _style_ , would it?

“Wish I could explain it, but you’re just different, hunny.” _Oh Goddess, another slip of the tongue._

Glancing to his right, Lloyd attempts to decipher the redhead’s vague facial expression in vain before continuing. “Well, if it helps, I feel the same. Somehow, you’re an easy person to talk to.”

Nothing had felt better than hearing the words _‘I feel the same’_ drift from Lloyd’s lips, warming his empty heart like phantom sensations strewn through his chest. _Look me in the eyes and tell me how much you love me,_ he thinks, only to realize neither he nor Lloyd would give up that easily. “I guess if I really had to put it into words, you believe in me and you stick around because you like me for who I am under the mask. The fact that you’ve gotten under it so easily really says something too.” Another pause, this time shorter and more concise. “You don’t treat me as the chosen. You treat me as Zelos.”

“You’re right about all of that, but I think your other companions would like you under the mask, too. You don’t need to isolate yourself.”

Zelos’ smile may be one of sadness, but he realizes that the idealist is still correct, as always-- same with the divinator, same with the conscience he still had somewhere, deep down in the back of his mind.

If life really was a game, maybe he didn’t have to lose. “Yeah, I suppose you’re right. I should really start showing more of myself to them, too. Just feels like they’re here to meet their own needs sometimes.”

“I think they care about you too, though.”

He sighs, memories of the past still fresh wounds in his mind. “Suppose I should probably fix some stuff with Sheena, then. Last time we saw each other, we left things on pretty bad terms.”

“Maybe that’ll be a good first step to opening up.” Lloyd smiles now, even if only a subtle grin that speaks of comfort and _home_. “And you know I’ll be here no matter what. I believe in you, Zelos, the same way that I know you believe in me.”

Zelos nods as subtly as Lloyd grins, watching the sky grow darker and darker through the window. By Zelos’ careful math, it had to be nearing 9:30 at night, and by now, everyone had been managing a steady routine that had them in bed by 10. Earliest time to sleep the party had accomplished since the journey began, whether out of comfort or simply _boredom._ “Guess it’s probably time for you to sleep soon, eh?”

“I guess it is getting kinda late.” The flutter in Lloyd’s stomach matched the identical one Zelos was trying so desperately to hide, and the fact that he could feel it even when he couldn’t feel anything else just made everything infinitely more complicated. He could hardly tell whether he feared or longed to regain his senses and discover these new sensations in all their full glory.

The redhead tried with great skill to maintain his composure in preparation for his next question. “Well, in the meantime is it okay if I--” 

Sleep next to you? There was no way he could ask something so absurd.

“--Just hang out in your room tonight?” That certainly didn’t sound much better, and he knew it.

To fuel his instant gratification, Lloyd does not recoil at the request he _knew_ to be bizarre. “Yeah, of course. I guess at this rate it won’t be long before you can sleep again, too.”

“Heh. You’re right.”

Altessa’s few guest rooms had the space to fit all seven companions, even Mithos, who only vaguely fit the title of _‘companion’_ on principle alone. Still, the bedrooms were well-furnished and clean, and thus, preferable even to most inns or Houses of Guidance in either of the two worlds. That night, Lloyd lies in bed, throwing the covers over himself in exhaustion, and he drifts off into star-kissed slumber; it takes an even shorter span of moments for his companions to follow suit, until finally, the building rings of silence.

Zelos only lays on his back directly beside Lloyd, listening to the gentle, breathy _inhale, exhale_ noises that tremble through his chest. Even that was good enough for him. Soon, Lloyd could touch him back and make this real.

_‘Oh, my. Isn’t this romantic.’_

_‘Great, you again.’_ Zelos rolls his eyes in the darkness, even though it doesn’t change anything. Mithos was still there, still being a _jackass_ . Same as always. _‘Maybe in any other situation, sure.’_

Mithos is laughing in response, his tone asinine at best. _‘Whatever you say. Now, I believe I missed the conversation. What is it about Lloyd that draws you to him, exactly?’_

_‘It’s like I think about him even when I’m not thinking.’_

_‘And when do you ever think to begin with?’_

The redhead rolls his eyes in silence.

_‘Don’t forget what I said, Zelos. Love will be your demise.’_

He knows this, but it doesn’t stop him from wanting to draw Lloyd only closer to him until he can feel the warmth of his body, even through the unfeeling tips of his fingers. Love may be his demise, but perhaps it could be his first true breath of life, too-- and to Zelos, that was far more important, at least for now.

Enough to wear his heart on his sleeve just one more time.

//

Ever since he was faced with his past through Mithos’ eyes, Zelos had been feeling increasingly regretful of his relationship with Sheena; rightfully so, of course. He regretted the way he treated her, the way things ended, and the way things have been since-- after all, the only reason they spent two years without speaking was because of his own shame. _He_ screwed up the only true friendship he’d ever had, and it was _his_ doing alone. His mouth pursed at the thought of the words _“I’m so sorry”,_ but here he was, ready to give an apology for forgiveness he didn’t deserve.

He knew this, and today, if he could help it, it was all going to change.

Sheena is consistently the first one of all his companions to wake each morning, save for Zelos, cursed never to dream more than the mere moments where the mind teases. Sheena, however, of those who could sleep, was forever the _morning person_ of the group; if they were to be uninterrupted, then this talk were to happen now or never. The growing feeling of nervousness engulfs Zelos as he approaches her, a sensation that proliferates for no reason other than impending uncertainty. After all, saying _“no”_ was just as much closure as anything else would ever be.

_‘Taking responsibility’_ was notably high on the list of things Zelos avoided like the plague, along with _‘change’_ , _‘honesty’_ , and _‘vulnerability’_.

“Yo, Sheena. You up for going for a walk or something until everyone else starts getting up?”

The summoner is raising a single brow in reply, and he can’t begin to tell if she’s surprised or simply unwilling. Perhaps he had read her wrong entirely, which was still a glaring possibility. Two years of silence and however long since spent making flighty, superficial banter and nothing more leaves little room for anything more than impersonal pleasantries, much less to re-learn the intricacies of one’s body language.

“What do you want, Zelos?”

“Just wanna talk, if you’re alright with that.”

There were no nicknames, no flirtatious words. Right now, at this very moment, he was only Zelos.

She obliges without much thought, despite the empty peculiarity of the situation as a whole. However, as they take a calm, early morning stroll through the woods, the moment they are completely alone together is the same moment Zelos realizes that he has absolutely _no idea_ how to begin a conversation of this magnitude.

“How’s the journey been for ya so far?” _Shit._ Clearly, this was _not_ off to a great start.

“Fine, but it’s hardly my journey.” She’s shrugging now, surprised by the unusual pleasantries but not the impersonal tone of them. “Why did you seek me out this morning? There’s no way you’re here for small talk.”

And thus, the conversation is started for him. “We never talked about what happened two years ago. Thought we could both use some closure.”

Sheena’s eyes grew wide for a split second, but it was still enough time for Zelos to register the expression of shock. “You’re right. I want to hear what you have to say about it, Zelos.”

“It was my fault, completely. I’ve spent most of my life trying to be anything other than me, and I messed things up with us bad in the process. Ran away from the one thing I shouldn’t have.”

“I hope you know I never stopped caring. I just couldn’t be around someone who didn’t care about themself.” Her stroll comes to a choreographed halt as light spreads through the trees of the forest, illuminating everything in sight and beyond. 

“It was like I was fighting a losing battle with you every day, Zelos. Even though we had known each other since we were kids, even though we tried and failed at being together, no matter what, it was like there was this brick wall I couldn’t get past.”

Zelos gazes upward into the pale blue sky, watching every second of the daybreak dancing above. “You’re right about all that, though. I’ve only started to realize lately that I gotta tear down that wall eventually if I actually want to live for me.”

“Yeah, and I know why. It’s Lloyd.”

A breathy chuckle escapes the redhead’s mouth; he couldn’t even pretend to hide it any more than he could try to pretend she was wrong. 

“How’d you guess?”

“I just see the way you look at each other. You never did that with me, or anyone else, for that matter.” She is expressionless as each word leaves her mouth-- Sheena was always difficult to read in moments like this. “I’m not upset, I hope you know. I think back then, our relationship was born out of obligation rather than anything genuine.”

“I think that we do have a genuine friendship under all the bullshit, though.”

“I think we can if you _cut_ the bullshit.” Sheena’s deadpan expression is dismissed in favour of a soft grin. With a smile on her face, she becomes far easier to decipher, even if only by little more than a slip of the mouth. 

Zelos sighs in exasperation, running an agile hand through his lengthy hair, softly brushing out tangles in the process. “Guess it’s time to keep it real, in that case.”

“Can I ask you something, Zelos?”

“Sure thing.” He doesn’t slip a _babe, hunny_ or _hot stuff_ in there, despite his overtly flirtatious tendencies-- something he hoped to curb at this point, perhaps even for good if he hoped to create a life worth living.

She gestures at his gloved arm, her amber eyes somehow brimming with yet another emotion that he couldn’t even _begin_ to make sense of. Even Seles was an easier person to read than Sheena sometimes. 

“What happened to your arm, anyway?”

“Damn. I thought you were going to ask an _easy_ question.” Trailing his fingers over where he knew the scar to be, he was well aware that this would only make things more complicated.

“The day I was told when the oracle was coming, I tried to join my father. Did exactly what he did. Couldn’t get deep enough. I dunno whether I expected to die on the spot or what, but I didn’t, so I just bandaged myself and carried on. Never told anyone.”

A moment of silence, only broken by the wings of songbirds soaring through the sky. “I’m sorry, Zelos.”

“Sheena, you’ve got nothing to apologize for.”

The summoner still sighs; she was finally allowing herself to grieve such a time in her life that had only been pushed down over and over again. “I still feel like I should, though, even if only because I wasn’t there.”

“You’re my oldest friend, Sheena. I hope that we can, in _your words_ , cut the bullshit from here on in.”

“Ha. Let’s do it.”

He smiles, and it’s nothing less than the same gleam of bliss that exists only beyond the mask. “Cool. Friends again, then.”

“I’m gonna trust you on this one, Zelos. If you can pull through, then… fine. Friends.”

As they walked back to the dwarf’s house in the thick of the woods, it was as if someone had just planted new seeds to replace flowers long lost. 

//

The sun had risen, and by now, the rest of Zelos’ companions had as well. Unfortunately, their stay at Altessa’s cottage was nothing short of a waiting game, leaving plenty of time for thoughts to run wild. For some, far _too wild_.

“Regal, you seem troubled.”

The man with iron eyes drags his gaze upward to find Altessa’s young assistant standing at his side. Perhaps _‘hovering’_ was a better descriptor, with her ghostly complexion and empty glances considered.

“If I were to say that nothing was troubling me, I would be untruthful.”

Between the two acquaintances seated side-by-side, it was difficult to tell who was more solemn; their very existence was nearly comparable to two matching brick walls trying to tear each other down in vain.

“Is there anything I can retrieve for you?” She asks, to which he frowns in response.

“If you insist, perhaps a glass of water would be nice.”

A short series of minutes passes, leading Presea to return with a mug in hand.

“Presea, correct?” he asks, and she speaks a gentle, wispy “Yes,” in reply to such a simple question. Regal glances at her as she sets the white cup in front of him, just as requested. A faithful assistant, even to her guests.

“Have you always lived in Sylvarant?” he asks with no hint of emotion in his voice. Perhaps that _nothingness_ in itself was a clue to her as to what he must have been rushing through his mind.

Presea takes a seat across from the older man with inquisition strung in her eyes, because somehow, for reasons that stretched far beyond Altessa’s dwelling, it was clear as the Sylvaranti air that she was the cure for his apprehension and woe.

“I have lived in both worlds in many cities, places, and laboratories as an experiment of Cruxis. Altessa saved me from an inevitable death as a casualty of research.” She pauses, her gaze beginning to soften for the first time since the band of travelers entered her home. “Is there a reason you ask such a question, Regal?”

A sip of his glass, and Regal returns the mug to the table in front of him. “Based on appearance alone, I suppose you remind me of the one I loved.”

“I am aware of this.”

Regal’s brows furrow subtly enough that he wonders if she notices at all. “What do you mean?”

Presea’s gaze could possess nearly anyone whose eyes were so unfortunate as to lock with hers. 

“I have lived a longer life than you think, and I have learned many things in that time. The way your eyes drop in grief when you look at me speaks of a love lost.”

“A love lost at my own, sinful, bloodied hands, nonetheless.”

“But you’re aware that she would not want you to think of her or _yourself_ that way, are you not?”

Regal’s gaze droops to the ground, wilted like dying roses. “Alicia would want me to keep fighting for her.”

Frowning, much as everything about her was nothing less than a mystery, Presea’s energy had only become more complex and difficult to decipher in the span of this conversation. Unfortunately, her next brings even less clarity, and instead, it only leaves Regal _confused._

“Alicia would want you to forgive yourself.”

The expression on Regal’s face was no longer emotionless and instead spoke of grimacing pain. “You cannot pretend to know what Alicia would want any more than I can-- perhaps even less so.”

Without a second feverish glance, Presea reaches around her chest and places a necklace with a pocket-sized pendant crafted of rusted copper on the table, sliding it in Regal’s direction.

“You know what this is, do you not?” She asks as confusion dances even over Regals’ face-- a face normally made of stone and nothing less. Considering his stoic demeanor, anyone who knew him and chose to lay eyes upon him right now would find his unbecoming a sight to behold. Instead, it was as if one had scrambled a mess of letters together only for Regal’s face to exclaim _‘this is how I feel’._

“The Combatir family crest. How did you get this?”

“Alicia was my family, and speaking as someone who knows the horrors of exspheres, I forgive you for what you did. Now, you need to forgive yourself.” Her chair squeaks as she pushes it backwards to stand once more.

“Wait, Presea. I must return this to you.” Regal extends the necklace back to the girl who only paced further away, and to his surprise, she swivels on her feet to decline with grace and care.

“Please, keep it,” she says with the first true twinge of warmth in her voice he had heard since arriving at Altessa’s home.

“No. I will not accept this.”

Presea turns to look the worn and weary man in the eyes once more, returning some of the life that their stark blue hues lacked. “Before I was taken by Cruxis, Alicia told me many stories of you. I believe you need this memento more than I do, and I will give it to you on the condition that you stop punishing yourself.”

A moment of silence wrung with tension follows, until Regal clasps the pendant between his hands and says “If you, of all people, can forgive me, then perhaps I can try to forgive myself.”

Those words were all Presea needed to hear in order to smile and walk away.

//

Altessa estimates only one more day before the key crest is complete. Zelos is nearly counting down the seconds, and much in tune with their unofficial leader, the rest of his companions are becoming stir-crazy after their second night spent confined in the same walls they’d stared at for days. It was hardly a bad place to rest, by any means, but boredom plays tricks on the mind when too much time is spent doing nothing.

“Everyone, I’m going to go back to Iselia for a bit,” Mithos’ smile is warm, inviting, and disgustingly _fake_. “I’ll be back tonight.” 

To Zelos, _‘never’_ would have been a far more appealing conclusion to that sentence, but above all else, Mithos leaving in such a hurry was suspicious at best.

“Be back soon, Mithos!” Genis exclaims as the rest of his friends bid him adieu with friendly smiles. Save for Zelos, nobody questions anything; after all, there is no reason to. This was simply their new friend, Mithos, the half-elf from Iselia they were talking about-- to everyone else, he was _nothing_ like the leader of Cruxis. They would never have even _faintly_ guessed. Somewhere in his eyes was the spark of a tyrant, but it had to be too far concealed under empty pleasantries for anyone else to see.

Instead, Zelos is the one initiating telepathic contact with the half-elf this time-- a first for him.

_‘Hey, wait, you’re sure leaving in a hurry. Where do you think you’re going?’_

Giving a short, sweet and simple glare back at him, Mithos exits the building.

_‘Taking care of business. I suggest you enter my mind for once and enjoy the show.’_

//

Welgaia had become notably, _glaringly_ quiet in the glaring absence of Lloyd and Remiel, as well as the temporary vacancy of their leader, Lord Yggdrasill himself. The city of angels was as lifeless as it had ever been, and it was only partially due to the death of one of the higher-ups-- in addition to this, Kratos was now acting as leader while Yggdrasill was lurking in stealth, and he was a far more impartial ruler than Yggdrasill had ever been.

This visit, however, Mithos was not here to see Kratos. Instead, his target was the _other_ of the remaining seraphim.

_‘Zelos. Why don’t you join me?’_

The half-elf was pacing the halls in temporary repose, preparing for a once-in-a-lifetime event; he had even taken his Yggdrasill, overlord of Cruxis form once more in preparation-- something he had carefully opted not to do since their first encounter as enemies. Twisted like a corkscrew waiting to pierce directly through the heart.

‘ _You know, I actively try to stay out of your head, Mithos.’_

_‘Now that you’re here, stay quiet. The show is about to begin.’_

Finally, the object of Yggdrasill’s gruesome desire was located, his blue hair swishing as he traversed the halls.

“Yuan, I believe we need to have a conversation.”

The seraphim is turning around with ease, but does not make it far before Yggdrasill slams him against the wall with such force, his head crashes into the polycarbonate behind him. Zelos even swore he heard a deafening _crack_ , but he couldn’t tell whether it was real or simply his imagination filling in the blanks of Yggdrasill’s cruelty.

_‘The hell are you doing, Mithos!? What is this?’_ Zelos responds far before Yuan has a chance to.

“Yuan, it appears that you picked a side, and you picked incorrectly. Your time as a member of Cruxis has come to an end.”

“L-lord Yggdrasill--”

Yggdrasill has the nerve to spit directly into his face.

“I do not take well to traitors, Yuan. After four thousand years by my side, I believe you should know this by now. Martel wished for me to spare you, but I’m afraid I can no longer do such a thing.”

Nimble fingers retrieve a stiletto knife from his pocket, aiming it directly at the artery in the seraphim’s neck. Yggdrasill did not sense the fear in his eyes that he so desired; instead, there was nothing short of _indignation_ . After a long life by Mithos’ side, perhaps Yuan truly was ready to die, as he surely must have realized by now that was his leader’s full intention. The narrative reflected back upon him-- one that lacked any sense of _terror_ or _panic_ \-- did not bring Mithos the thrill he sought, but it did not matter, as this murder was one with a purpose other than pleasure. Instead, it was a cold-hearted killing born of revenge.

“C-chosen’s group--” Yuan gasps for air between each syllable, fighting as much as was possible in his current predicament. Unfortunately for him, this was _‘hardly’_ , and his fate was inevitable. 

“--will win.”

“And you won’t, my _gracious traitor._ ”

The next time Zelos stares through Mithos’ eyes, he finds the half-elf hovering over Yuan’s body, the slender dagger lodged directly in his throat. The sight alone made his stomach twist and turn in gruesome fashion, but the fact that Mithos could know this man for four thousand years and still kill him in cold blood only made the scene more chilling to the bone.

_‘And this, chosen, is why you do not cross me.’_

_‘You’re a monster.’_

_‘Call me what you like. I believe that now you know what I’m capable of.’_

Zelos did, and now that has seen the blood all over again, he wished that he didn’t. He could smell death all over again, see the shade of red painted neatly across his vision.

He could never forget. _He wished he could._

//

“Mithos, do you like Sylvarant?”

Once again, Genis’ innocent words cut deep with a knife made of thorns rather than silver; the sly, secretive leader has since returned from Welgaia, and nobody can see the blood on his hands but Zelos. It was such stark contrast to go directly back and forth from _‘overlord of Cruxis’_ to _‘meek, mild half-elven traveler’_ , particularly just after he had taken the life of one of his oldest companions without a shred of remorse-- leading Mithos to be even _more_ taken aback by Genis’ naive question.

“I suppose I do. I’ll admit though, sometimes I wish there were some kind of world where we could live openly as half-elves without having to be afraid.”

Genis was surprised by his response as well, but it echoed the same sentiment that had been ringing through his head for longer than he could remember. 

“I think about that all the time, too-- about what I could be doing with my life if it weren’t for discrimination.”

Mithos is furrowing his brows, not only in curiosity, but because he sees the chance to seize an opportunity by the neck.

“So, Genis, what would you be doing if you lived a life free of discrimination, then?”

“Well, I would want to go back to school. I’d like to be a scientist, and I want to change the world.” He laughs. “Where I went to school before, my sister and I had to pretend to be elves. When we got caught, they kicked us out and branded us as criminals.”

“Wow. So you’ve really dealt with a lot of hatred then, too.”

“Yeah, it’s been hard. But if you could change the world, how would you do it, Mithos?”

The sly, blonde youth collects his thoughts, thinking carefully about how to proceed next, and prepares to draw his claws around his prey. “I always wonder what it would be like if there were no differences between people. That way, there’s nothing to discriminate against.”

Genis grins, inquisitive and so, _so_ very innocent. “I’ve thought about that, too. I believe in all the things my friends are trying to do, but I also think we could be doing more.”

“Maybe it’s something we could do, together, as friends.”

Zelos was now the one to pester the half-elf, if you could call concern for his companion’s _life_ pestering at all, considering the exact, visceral _carnage_ he just witnessed.

_‘Don’t you dare, Mithos.’_

Instead, Mithos’ smirk contorts even further into something ugly and sinister.

_‘Watch me.’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The lore about Mithos’ background came primarily from the Taleslations tumblr, I can’t take credit for anything other than filling in the blanks. [However, I ended up writing a full, separate 8k fic about Zelos’ childhood (in the canon timeline, not this AU) after this, which you can find here.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23847511)  
> I know many of you don't like character death and I hate spoilers just as much, but don't worry, Y-guy is in the sequel. Lmao  
>   
> [Commentary: brags, regrets, and trivia!](https://twitter.com/flambydelrabies/status/1294651976706404352)


	8. Cheek by Jowl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mentioned emetophobia. Otherwise, here it is: the fluff you've all been waiting for.
> 
> Commentary in end A/N.

_“But it wasn’t my honesty that would have saved me,_

_I thought; it was more dishonesty._

_In my experience, honesty and expressing your feelings could lead to only one thing._

_Disaster.”_

_\- Margaret Atwood_

//

The feeling of tender, breathtaking, _electrifying_ sensations creeping through Zelos’ body were as bittersweet as his mother’s embrace once felt, back before she stopped loving him and he stopped loving himself in return. 

It was sweet, in the sense that he was truly _human_ again with full access to the spectrum from pain to pleasure, and bitter for the single reason that regaining feeling in his body was comparable to a hundred pins and needles snaking through every single one of his arteries. It was like the first drink of water after weeks of dehydration or the first breath of fresh air when the grasp of a chokehold is lifted-- both things Zelos was sure to endure in the next twenty-four hours as well. Even the feelings of needles in his veins weren't unfavourable following weeks of not being able to feel _(perhaps_ months _\-- time meant nothing anymore)_ , but it certainly was overwhelming to the point of sheer absurdity.

 _‘Bye bye, asshole.’_ Zelos has no idea whether or not Mithos was still able to hear him, but Goddess, did he hope that his last farewell reached the devil that haunted him so. The moment he bids Mithos adieu, he collapses to the ground and his head of fiery red hair hits Altessa’s floor with a _‘thud’_.

“Chosen, are you alright?” Altessa asks, but the unspoken question is truly _‘Zelos, can you feel again?’_

Zelos is lifting his body off of the ground now, allowing himself to let even the tiniest feelings of his fingernails dragging against wooden floorboards and frizzy hairs grazing against bare skin engulf each and every one of his senses. 

“Yeah, man, I’m good. Just wasn’t expecting that to hurt for some reason.” He knew the reason, and Altessa did too, but it was certainly best left unspoken.

“Then it seems the Key crest has successfully contained the angel transformation.” The dwarf helps Zelos back onto his feet, and by now, every nerve in his body is screaming with delicate sensitivity. The feeling of touch against any surface at all was nearly too overwhelming to bear.

“Well, if i’m all better now, I guess I better let everyone know, eh?”

Presea gestures to the door, a quiet, but firm _“I will lead you downstairs”_ leaving her mouth as she walks through the open arch with Zelos in tow. 

“Guys! My beautiful body is _human_ again!” he exclaims the moment he sees his friends, who nearly jump with joy at their most pressing objective finally being complete. Still, his smile dissipates the moment he sees Mithos among the gaggle of friendly, smiling faces, who had yet to leave despite their goals diverging once more. A wolf in sheep’s clothing among his terribly innocent friends, to conceptualize it in the _kindest_ metaphor possible. 

“Does this mean everything is back to normal now?” Sheena asks, and her question is met with a nod and grin from Zelos that was so artificial, it stretched to the point he feared his face would split in two. The half-elven deviant _had_ to leave for the sake of Zelos’ well-being, but there was nothing he could say to blow the situation without blowing his sister’s safety at the very same time.

Lloyd steps forward, his eyes locked with the redhead’s. In stark contrast to Zelos’ fake smile, his was as real as could be. 

“So, what have you been looking forward to most about being you again, Zelos?”

The majority of the truthful answers to that question were things he dared not speak aloud-- holding Lloyd in his arms, sleeping next to him at night, grazing the tips of his fingers against the side of his face upon waking up next to each other the following morning. Thankfully, having kicked Mithos out of his head meant he could long and lust with no shame from anyone inside _or_ outside his own mind.

With that being said, he thinks on his feet in order to answer with a half-truth, even if just a _‘good enough for now’_ truth. Anything but the complete truth would do.

“Well, y’know, I’m getting kind of hungry.”

“How about I make us some food, then!?” Lloyd nearly leaps at this opportunity, allowing a newfound enthusiasm to shine through as Zelos shoots a “Sure thing, hunny” back in his direction.

Mithos’ sly, conniving smile is all but invisible to everyone save for Zelos the moment the word _‘hunny’_ slips out of his mouth ( _slip of the tongue_ , it means _nothing_ , he thinks-- _oh, Goddess,_ we know that’s not true _, now don’t we?_ ). Instead, Zelos makes razor-sharp eye contact with the catlike overlord from across the room, and they don’t need to be connected telepathically in order to decipher the thoughts that run through each other’s minds.

“Hey, Mithos, man, can I talk to you for a sec?” As he saunters to the cunningly sweet half-elf, Zelos is lucky he knows how to mask his disdain so well.

“Of course. Why don’t we take a walk outside?” Everything about this interaction is terribly, terribly _fake_ , and the moment they exit the wooden doors of Altessa’s cottage, both of their friendly acts drop to the ground as fast as Mithos’ fake smile. 

“What do _you_ want, idiot chosen?”

“That’s what I’m here to ask _you_ , you incompetent brat.” Zelos’ eyes turn to slits as he stares into Mithos’ facial expression that reeked of a different, yet equal displeasure. “You said we would be done once we got our brains separated, or whatever. So why are you still here?”

“Hmph.” Mithos’ sly smirk is back, poison shining through his teeth in all its villainous glory. “Believe me, I'll be on my _merry_ way soon, chosen, but there is something I must do first.”

Glancing to the window, Genis’ silver head of hair is visible alongside Lloyd in the kitchen, preparing tonight’s meal with the help of his companions. Innocence and darkness melded together in perfect synthesis within that teenage boy, and in that very same vein, Mithos was certain that anything that could be bent could be broken.

Zelos’ fists clench so hard that they ache and a certain fire he’d nearly forgotten ignites in his chest.

“I don’t care who you are, if you so much as _touch_ any of my friends--”

A _laugh_ , of all things, follows this splintered sentence fragment.

“Or you’ll do _what_ to me, Zelos Wilder? You’ll _hurt me?_ You’ll _kill me?_ Don’t make me laugh. You even try that, and you know what I’ll do in return.” 

The door swings open and Genis waves his arm in zeal. “Hey, Mithos! Dinner’s ready!”

The moment Genis’ voice rings through their ears, the other youth raises his pitch and returns his tone to one of friendly persuasion. “Thank you, Genis! We’ll be inside in a minute.” 

As the half-elf with silver hair shuts the door and retreats back inside, Mithos turns to leave as well, but not before locking eyes with the chosen once more.

“Don’t forget, Zelos. He said my name, not yours.”

As Mithos shuts the door behind him, Zelos is alone with his own thoughts for the very first time since he ran from the journey, however long ago that may have been by now. He stands in silence, breathing in the purified air, and for once, he is truly speechless, because there is nothing left for him to say.

 _Bittersweet_ , really, if you could call it anything at all.

//

“Alright, food’s ready! Everyone grab a plate!” Lloyd exclaims, his smile widening as he extends a plate of curry in Zelos’ direction.

“Y’know, I have high expectations, hunny. This better be good.”

Once everyone is seated-- Presea, Altessa, and Mithos included, the party begins to dig into the food that Lloyd and Genis had spent the afternoon so graciously preparing. Clearly, Lloyd was hardly a skilled enough chef to prepare a meal for nine people all on his own, but with the help of Genis’ mastery of culinary arts and his own drive to give Zelos his first proper meal in longer than he could remember, the two of them had paired their passions together to create something truly spectacular.

“Well, Zelos? Did this meet your _expectations_ or what?”

Truth be told, the redhead had absolutely no idea whether the curry was actually any good or if he was just savouring the feeling of being able to eat again, and that was what made it as good as it was; disregarding those minor details, Zelos truly was loving every bite.

“Exceeded ‘em,” he finally says between hearty spoonfuls. 

“Well, I mean, it’s definitely better than Raine’s cooking. Sorry, Raine,” Sheena says as she finishes her plate and dashes to retrieve seconds. _‘Better than Raine’s cooking’_ was nearly as big an understatement as you could possibly make in this case; it was like comparing Tethe’alla’s muddied skies to Sylvarant’s crisp, fresh air. Even that comparison was laughable.

Raine crosses her arms. “Now, now, if I recall, Zelos enjoyed my spicy lemon fish pasta back at his mansion, didn’t you, Zelos?”

 _‘Well, I_ do _recall throwing it up’_ was what he _wanted_ to say, but hurting the feelings of a beautiful woman was out of the question.

“Ah, yes, the cool, sweet beauty and her creative cooking! Why don’t we toast to good friends and being able to eat sweet, sweet meals such as this one!?” 

Glasses are raised and an air of optimism billows through the room, infecting nearly everyone-- save for the very person they were trying to destroy, who sat among them as if a devoted friend.

“Alright, hunnies and fellas, time for me to take a walk. You can see my _beautiful face_ and hear my _beautiful voice_ once I return.” He leaves the table with idle chatter in his wake, taking note of how Genis’ proximity to Mithos was closing in tighter and tighter. The sight made him feel ill the same way the angel transformation had made him reject everything in his stomach, but as he shuts the door, he finds himself out of sight, out of mind of the impending doom brewing within Altessa’s walls.

Zelos is only outside for mere minutes before he hears the only voice that could comfort him even on his darkest days. For once, he welcomed the company in his solitude, but only from one person alone.

“Hey, everything okay?” Lloyd asks, shutting the door behind him with gentle hands. All Zelos wanted was to feel those hands wrapped around him in tender embrace, but hell if he could ever ask for something like that. He couldn’t even ask for help instead of running away; asking for pointless affection was unheard of.

Gaze turned to the sky, Zelos’ habit of watching the stars as the sun began setting certainly had not dissipated, but the difference between tonight and every other endless night prior was the feeling of weariness that seeped through his body like a gentle wave. Prior to this very moment, he could hardly remember what being tired felt like, much less true exhaustion.

“Ha. Just wanted a breath of fresh air, hunny. The air is so clean here.”

“Hmm, what do you mean?”

Zelos finally turns to look Lloyd in the eyes, and the feeling in his chest is indescribable now that he can feel it to its full extent. He’d never understood all the singing and crying of love until he felt it bubbling up inside him; the same way the feeling of nothingness is incomparable to anything he’d ever felt, the same could be said of _love_ . Some things really don’t feel like anything else because they simply _can’t_ feel like anything else.

“I mean the air in Sylvarant. Now that I can smell the clean air and feel the breeze on my skin, it’s just… different.” The moment he speaks of breeze, a soft gust of wind brushes against his skin and blows stray locks of red hair across his vision. Rose red, crimson red, _blood_ red. No matter what, the colour red always comes back to one thing alone, and it never ceases to send a chill down Zelos’ spine.

“Say, hunny, i’m getting a little wiped. Mind if I sleep next to you tonight?”

Lloyd furrows his brows, allowing a look of confusion to dance across his face. The steps of this dance, however, were clumsy and unfamiliar. 

“Yeah, sure. That’s never been a problem before. Why are you asking now?”

“Because I can’t explain it, but this time, it’ll be different too.”

Smiling, Lloyd’s aura is that of sunshine after a torrential downpour, and now there’s a new kind of tension between the two men-- or perhaps the same as it ever was, but the difference is that Zelos can actually feel it now in all its aching, longing complexity.

He discovers that it doesn’t take long for self-control to become a distant, far-fetched concept, and Zelos finds himself with arms wrapped tightly around the brunette, all while his heart is ablaze with sensations previously unimaginable in nature. The burning sensitivity, the flutter in his stomach, and a feeling of flighty intoxication so strong he swears he must have been drinking champagne all night all combine to form a feeling he can only describe as _passion_.

Some things really don’t feel like anything else.

The embrace lasted perhaps minutes, hours, or seconds, but neither of them were counting. By the time Lloyd breaks away, he can’t hide his flushed face any more than Zelos can hide his.

“C’mon, let’s head back inside,” he says, and as Zelos glances toward the window, he locks eyes with the only person he hates more than himself. Mithos is smirking now, and with his retained angelic senses, Zelos can even make out the words he mouths from half the field away.

_“I promise you, he will be your downfall.”_

//

By the time the sun has dipped below the horizon, Zelos is curled up in bed with a newfound appreciation for the feeling of drifting off into slumber, but the sensation of doing so with his face pressed deeply into Lloyd’s chest and their arms entangled in one other was something entirely new in and of itself. _Better than sex_ , he thinks, if the two could even be compared at all.

The warmth of Lloyd’s body radiated straight into Zelos’ soul, and somehow, he knew the feeling was mutual without it even having to be voiced. That night, he dreamed of love, warmth, and allowing himself to feel those things with all of his being, and it was the first time in Zelos’ life that he had a dream that made him want to live instead of die.

Stirring, Zelos wakes to find himself without blankets and his partner-- and, perhaps, _personal heater_ \-- turned on his side.

“Hey! You can’t hog all the blankets! I can actually feel temperature again, you know!”

Lloyd continues rolling over onto his back once more, still little more than hardly awake. “Mmm… you say something?”

Genis begins to awaken, being unfortunate enough to be the only other member of the party with a bed in the same room as theirs. Thankfully for the half-elf, this was the most noise Lloyd and Zelos had made since they began rooming together. 

“Hey, be quiet, you two! You have any idea how _early_ it is?”

“Nope, and I don’t care.” Zelos realizes he should really start to be nicer to Genis, especially with his growing concern surrounding whatever Mithos was brewing in that twisted head of his, but no matter what, he just couldn’t find any way to _like_ the half-elf brat. “I’m going to see Altessa. Bye.”

Zelos exits his room only to find the dwarf already awake and seated at the same dinner table they’d shared such a splendid evening at the night before. It was dwarven tradition to begin work the moment the sun rises, meaning only the redhead and Altessa were awake-- even Sheena had yet to rise, a fact that surprised him greatly.

 _‘Guess this whole not sleeping thing did a number on those circadian rhythms of mine, huh?’_ he asks himself, nearly expecting a scathing response in his head back, only to breathe a sharp sigh of relief that there wouldn’t be one.

“Say, Altessa. Can I talk to you for a sec?”

The dwarf glances upward, making eye contact that spoke of determination. “What is it that you need, Chosen?”

 _Chosen_. Zelos nearly scowled at the word, considering how unaccustomed he had become to being called the title he so hated.

“Well, me and my friends, we’re trying to reunite the worlds, stop Cruxis and all that. I know you used to work for them. Was hoping you could give us some pointers on what to do next.”

 _‘Hmph’_. “I’m afraid that I do not know, but if you allow me a few more days, I will use my connections to find an answer for you and your companions. No matter how foolish, I believe in your idealism.”

“Thanks, man. That’s really all we can ask for at this point.”

A flurry of footsteps echoing against the floor causes their conversation to come to a grinding halt, as if it hadn’t already. A cursory glance reveals Sheena stepping out of her room rubbing her eyes, just as surprised to see Zelos awake this early as he was to be awake in the first place.

“Zelos, why are you awake? Are you still not sleeping, or what?”

He shakes his head. “Nah, I actually did sleep last night, believe it or not. Who knows why I’m awake right now, though. But if we can stand to hang out here for a couple more days, Altessa is gonna help us find a way to reunite the two worlds.”

A sigh of relief escapes Sheena’s mouth, because the question of _‘next steps’_ was one that was hard-pressed into everyone’s minds. If that meant waiting a few more days, then so be it.

“Thank you, Altessa. That would really help us out.”

The morning draws on, the sky turns from pink to pale blue, and the rest of their companions rise-- including Mithos, who prepares to transform back from a young traveler to the ruthless ruler of the world itself.

“Thank you for letting me stay with you all for a while. I’m going to go back to Iselia now, but it was nice to meet all of you.” Mithos is smiling, and Zelos can’t believe that not a _single_ one of his friends saw through his act the entire time. It certainly takes a lot of trust and faith in the world to unknowingly share plates, beds, and a roof over one’s head with their greatest enemy.

“Bye, Mithos! I’m happy we met!” Genis exclaims, but he knew that would hardly be the end of their encounters.

In the dead of violet evening, he waits under the trees by the cottage, secluded from sight and hidden from monsters for one reason alone: tonight, he had a visitor who was expecting him right in this spot, this time, and this exact position. Sure enough, the foreordained encounter became a reality as a figure approached from the treeline.

“Mithos! You really came,” Genis says, his voice hushed despite its enthusiasm, trying not to draw attention to his stealthy midnight rendezvous.

“Of course! I said I’d come, didn’t I?” Mithos smiles, and it’s genuine, whether he recognizes it or not. He feels a pull toward the young boy, one that went beyond careful manipulation and into a true warmth the overlord did not think he was capable of.

Genis is curious, as he always is; ever the budding scholar, looking for answers anywhere he can find them. “Why did you want to meet here?”

“I just like being able to talk, just the two of us.” His brows are drooping, because as much as he enjoyed Genis’ company, this visit served a purpose, as did its secrecy.

“I was interested in talking to you about something, actually. How do you feel about your friends?”

Clearly, Genis was puzzled by this question, but his naive trust in Mithos caused him to answer at face value.

“Well, I’ll be honest, a lot of the time, except for my sister, I don’t really feel like they accept me. Especially Zelos.”

Mithos laughs, not only because of his personal dislike of Zelos, but because that knowledge meant that recruiting Genis was going to be far easier than he imagined. 

“Well, honestly, Zelos would be an idiot not to accept you.” A pause as Genis nods. “So, hypothetically, from one half-elf to another, if me and your friends got into a fight, whose side would you pick?”

“Ha! That’s a good question.” One that Genis chose not to question the motives behind, even moreso. “I think I’d pick you. You really understand me and it seems like we always want the same things.”

The smile on Mithos’ face is ever widening. He had his work cut out for him in every sense of the word.

“So, then, if I asked you to stay with me, what would you say?”

Genis grins at the mere thought, and he couldn’t even begin to say why as his response dances from his tongue. 

“I’d say ‘of course’, but only if you asked.”

“Ha! I hope you know that I’m gonna remember that!” The blonde is beaming from ear-to-ear, and now Genis has joined in the display of youthful joy. For once, Mithos’ smile is authentic. _For once_ , perhaps, he really has formed a genuine connection with another person, and Genis’ reaction to finding out who Mithos really is was either going to make or break that budding relationship.

Only time would tell, and time meant nothing to him before this.

“I should be going back to Iselia. Let’s meet again tomorrow night, same time and place.”

“Yeah!” Genis exclaims, and as Mithos walks away, the shaggy, silver-haired boy feels a burning in his chest that no amount of studying could have helped him decipher.

//

As Genis approaches Altessa’s house, he spots Zelos and Lloyd seated next to each other through the window, leading him to opt into taking the back entrance so as not to be seen. Mithos had insisted that they meet in private, and Genis was certainly a boy of his word, whether he understood the situation to its full extent or simply a fraction of it. He was certain that all would become clear soon, as his trust in Mithos was unwavering-- after all, he was the first half-elf friend he’d ever had, and the first person to cause that unfamiliar flutter in his stomach that _didn’t feel like anything else_.

Inside, Lloyd leans to stare into Zelos' eyes; when he looks at Lloyd in return, those same pupils fill with stars that match the night sky. 

“You’ve been quiet today, Zelos. What’s up?”

The redhead chuckles, allowing himself to exhale some of the newfound tension in his body. “Of course only you would be the one to point that out.”

“What does that mean?” Lloyd Aurion, son of Kratos, _clueless as ever_.

“I’m just saying that I don’t know how, but you get me, and you notice all these little things.”

Lloyd furrows his brows, having received fewer answers to his question than he would have appreciated. “Well, yeah. You’re really easy to read.”

“Ha! I’ll have you know you’re the only one who thinks so, hunny.”

“Well, whenever you’re really bothered by something, you get quiet, and then whenever someone addresses you directly, you get really over-the-top loud and flirtatious. That’s how I know something’s wrong.”

Zelos’ eyes open wide and a lightning-fast electric shock jolts through his nervous system; it was those feelings of shock, discomfort, and pain that he can’t believe he ever missed when his body was empty and hollow. But in this moment, Lloyd was the first person to ever truly see through his carefully-constructed defense mechanism, and if nothing else, Zelos was _terribly impressed_.

“Guess I’ve just been thinking more about how I’ll never get a life of my own. Don’t even know if I will when this is all over. I was born to be someone else, and I was born to be a sacrifice.” His eyes are heavy and it is clear as the Sylvaranti sky that he can’t hide _anything_ from Lloyd.

The brunette says nothing, leading Zelos to continue. “My Dad, he killed himself. Took a knife directly to the wrist. I tried to follow in his footsteps once and I couldn’t do it. But I can understand why a chosen wouldn’t want to live. I’ve talked about this to death, but sometimes I just gotta keep talking about it. Catharsis and whatever.”

Lloyd is frowning, the corners of his mouth angled downward. Whether it was out of sympathy or because of the gruesome topic of conversation was unclear. 

“You’re allowed to talk about it, though. Especially to me.”

“I’m starting to think my life is pointless. I don't know why I was Chosen. Spent a long time thinking they _chose wrong_. There’s no reason for me to be alive.” Zelos stares out the window into the full moon above that cast shadows of lush trees into the grass below. “When you think about it, I may as well be a lifeless being. I’ve got no purpose beyond that.”

While his surroundings whisper of solitude, the air between him and Lloyd reeks of sharp, sudden vexation as the brunette _slams_ his open palm onto the table.

“Zelos, what are you saying!?” Lloyd’s voice burned to match the fire in his heart, and there was no doubt in Zelos’ mind that his words had sparked a sense of _fury_ in the other boy he had yet to see. _‘Oops.’_

“Of course you matter, Zelos! Don’t you see that!? You matter to your friends, you matter to your sister, and…” he stops, because even though he knew the four words he wanted to say next, getting them out of his head seemed impossible.

“...You matter to me.”

“I--” Zelos begins, but doesn’t finish. He has no idea how he would have finished that mere cut-and-dry beginning of a sentence anyways.

“Zelos, I hope you know, you’ve made a difference in so many peoples’ lives.” As he stands to leave, the redhead begins to feel a sense of desperation he’d seldom experienced, perhaps never once in his life; all he knew is that now, more than ever, he didn’t want Lloyd to go, and the feeling of him leaving this table made him feel sick to his core.

“Hunny, babe, I--”

“You’ve really made a difference in so many peoples’ lives, _especially_ mine.”

As Lloyd storms off like a cloud of booming thunder to juxtapose his lightning veins, Zelos only leans back in his chair, defeated and succumbing to the nausea he is well aware could only be psychosomatic. _‘Funny how love makes you feel things that are both tangible and_ intangible _’_ , he thinks, leading his hand to drift through ruby-read curls. 

It does not take long for Zelos to lift himself onto his feet and find Sheena standing directly behind him. How long she must have been standing there was nebulous, but clearly, it hadn’t phased Lloyd in the slightest if he’d noticed her at all.

“So, you heard all that, huh?”

Sheena adopts a frigid glare and raises her open palm with such force, it collides directly with his pale face with a ferocious _slap_.

“Zelos, don’t you get it!?” She snarls under her breath so as not to wake her friends sleeping only mere rooms away.

He brings his hand to the side of his face, running slender fingers along the area of impact. “Sorry, can’t say I get what I’m supposed to _‘get’_ , or why I deserved that.”

“He _loves_ you! Don’t you understand that!?” she barks, her voice as cold as Zelos traitorously saw his own heart to be.

“If only being in love was enough to fix me, or that love counted for anything at all.” His eyes drift out the window again, and the moonlight hides the red streak across Zelos’ face impeccably.

“Fix yourself, then. I thought you said you were going to quit the bullshit.” She turns on her heels, beginning her trek back to her room-- but not before throwing a _“You better go fix it with him first,”_ in Zelos’ direction with such force, he felt her words hurl against his chest.

Sheena crosses perpendicular paths with Genis who retreats to his room in tow, and he turns to her and says one, simple sentence:

“Well, guess love’s not only blind, but deaf.”

//

Zelos didn’t like to look in the mirror, because all he saw was the two horribly flawed people who created him staring back. 

Half Mother, half Father, and entirely an amalgamation of all their worst traits; after Mylene’s death he stopped cutting his hair out of spite. He thought, that way, maybe people would see less of his father in him and he would see less of his father in himself. He doesn’t know if it worked, because all he sees right now are cyclical patterns that run in self-defeating rings. A failure in every right, if he may.

Because of this new surge of self-pity, as he gazes at his reflection in this fragile series of moments, he no longer sees either of his parents. Instead, he sees a whole new kind of screwed up-- a brand all on its own made up only of masks, lies, and deceit.

 _‘Fix myself, huh?’_

He extends his hand to touch the mirror, fingers splayed against the glass in meditative pause. It takes only moments for Zelos to realize what he must do.

His sword is drawn from its resting sheath, and there is no hesitation as he raises it to the back of his neck. Within seconds, rose-red locks of hair fall to the ground like wilted petals.

Objectively, he did resemble his father more now with shaggy, not-quite-shoulder length curls, but in his own mind, Zelos’ reflection no longer echoed traces of the former chosen. A small display of his own bodily autonomy, he had rid himself of the only thing that tied him to the past, save for the title that haunted him like a plague-- and soon, he hoped to purge that part of his life as well, now with Lloyd at his side to tell him he was worth something. 

Beyond this, speaking of Lloyd, there was something Zelos knew deep within himself that he must make right.

He finds Lloyd exactly where he expects, sitting in the starlight with his legs crossed and eyes turned to the sky.

“Hey, can we talk... I guess?” Zelos finds himself hesitant to ask, though he knows he must, lest he risk destroying something beautiful for no reason other than out of self-centered fear. It wouldn’t have been the first time, after all.

The brunette glances up, confusion running miles through his facial expression upon seeing Zelos once more. “Your hair is different.”

Zelos takes a seat next to the other man, leaning backwards and putting his weight into his arms. He only assumes his presence is welcome, because Lloyd was not disputing it in the slightest.

“What, do you not like my _beautiful_ new haircut?” he asks, and Lloyd can’t tell if Zelos is being playful or serious-- truth be told, his demeanor must have been a healthy mix of both. While his comment was born of banter, he really did care what Lloyd thought-- he’d go so far as to say Lloyd is the only one whose opinion about it meant something to him _at all_.

“No, I really like it, actually. I can’t explain why, but I think it suits you.” After the words escape his lips, a silence follows, awkward in its own right.

“So… I’m sorry that I said what I did. Guess I didn’t realize I was going to hurt you so bad.”

Lloyd is turning away, his vision firmly situated on the green grass in front of him. “I guess I was just upset because after everything that’s happened, you still don’t realize how much you mean to everyone... and me, too.”

“Well, I do now, and I promise i’ll never forget.” He pauses, because he knows this is the perfect time to say _‘I love you’_ , but the words won’t leave his mouth no matter how much he tries. “You mean a lot to me too, Lloyd,” was the best he could do, and it sufficed.

The brunette reclines onto his back, hands placed gently behind his head as he stares into the night sky. Zelos is following suit now, and the duo of silent lovers lie in the field watching the stars. Much like everything else, he gained a newfound appreciation for stargazing when Lloyd was by his side. Even more than that, as Zelos rolled onto his side and placed his head on Lloyd’s chest, he found a newly discovered gratitude for sleeping underneath the constellations in the night sky.

Once he is certain Lloyd has drifted off to sleep, the redhead leans in and gives the other man a gentle peck on the cheek, tender enough to say _‘I love you’_ without having to speak the words he feared into existence. For now, it’s all he can do, and it’s good enough to last the night.

Zelos Wilder knows now that he’s not the stone-hearted person he once thought himself to be, and that love was a feeling he felt just like any other, but he’ll be damned if he had the slightest clue what to do with any of these new emotions, much less how to coexist with them in his own head.

//

Nobody cared to speak of the reason Lloyd and Zelos had spent the night holding each other bathed in starlight, but they all knew why the two men were so close together at all times; the way they looked at each other was something songs and stories could be written of alone. Their feelings for each other became a well-known secret of sorts-- Sheena with her watchful eyes must have known before even Zelos did, but none of their friends chose to speak the phenomenon into existence, because none of the words ascribed _or_ unascribed changed that Lloyd and Zelos were in love.

To Genis, this was of no concern. Who Zelos chose to lust over was of no consequence to him. His only anxieties were over how Lloyd will react when the idiot chosen inevitably _breaks his heart_.

Speaking of Lloyd, he’s gung-ho with enthusiasm and a spring in his step today and _everyone_ knows why. By the time he approaches the half-elf in the corner of the room, he’s practically glowing. 

“Hey, Genis. Want to do some sparring today?” 

Genis was particularly quiet on this breezy afternoon, and as much as he wanted to join Lloyd for some idle training, his mind was elsewhere. All that resonated through his thoughts was his cryptic conversation with Mithos from the night before, but with a pinch of resentment, he begrudgingly agreed to spar.

“Yeah, sure thing, Lloyd.” He doesn’t have the capacity for much talk right now, much less hollow small talk that was meaningless in nature.

Blades clashed and Genis stayed silent, giving mere one-word answers when called upon, otherwise letting his thoughts run wild to the tune of the clinking metal.

_‘If I asked you to stay with me, what would you say?’_

Why Mithos would ask him a question like that was beyond his scope of knowledge, even if that capacity certainly was greater than that of most boys his age. All he knew is that the pull he felt towards Mithos was greater than anything he had ever felt, and when he sleeps, he dreams of the world they create together where half-elves live in peace.

“Genis?”

His vision snaps back to the harsh realities in front of him, and the half-elf finds himself with his nimble blade on the ground, unarmed.

“Sorry, Lloyd.” He bends to retrieve his sword, gripping it between deft fingers and assuming his battle stance once more.

The brunette stops now, allowing a moment of vulnerability in their rigorous training. “Everything okay, Genis?”

“Yeah, don’t worry about it. I’m fine,” Genis says with his mind still hovering in another realm where Mithos is with him, they can have the life they want, and they’re _happy_.

_‘I’d say ‘of course’, but only if you asked.’_

Was his question asked in earnest, or was it simply hypothetical? Here he was, training to wield the sword that would save the world, yet _here he was, still_ , having doubts about whether he wanted to anymore at all.

Genis could be certain of only one thing, and that was the fact that no matter what, the moment Mithos asks him the question that burns holes into his heart, his answer is and will always be _‘yes’_.

//

The same time, the same place, the same glow of moonlight through the trees. Genis finds himself nearly giddy with excitement at the thought of seeing his impending visitor, yet another sensation unfamiliar to the youthful boy.

Everyone has a first love whose name rings through their ears like a sweet summer song. Genis would never have expected that his would be none other than Mithos Yggdrasill, the hero, the monster, and the arbitrator of the world himself.

“Genis! I’m so happy you came to meet me again tonight. There’s something I’d like to talk to you about.”

The silver-haired boy prepares his answer to the inevitable question: _yes, yes, yes_.

“There’s something I want you to know about me. I won’t be surprised if you hate me afterward, but I can’t hide it from you anymore.” Mithos’ eyes dart to the grass below, avoiding eye contact at all costs.

He didn’t need to, because Genis’ smile never wavers around the other boy. Puppy love, really-- sheer, dumb puppy love. “Mithos, I don’t think I could ever hate you.”

“In that case, can I show you something?” 

_Yes, yes, yes._

A nod from Genis, and a subsequent hand flutters to Mithos’ chest; in a flash of brilliant light, incandescent wings tinted with every colour of the rainbow span out from the blonde boy’s back. Genis is nothing short of mesmerized by the kaleidoscope of colours presented before him, nonetheless in the form of crystalline shards.

“Mithos, you have wings?” The sparkling feathers shine in the moonlight, illuminating their makeshift hideaway with sheer brilliance. “I think they’re beautiful, I really do. But how did you get wings?”

“If you want, I can help you get wings of your own.”

Genis is trying to fit the pieces of this puzzle together, but even his genius-level intelligence couldn’t comprehend such an obvious answer to the situation at hand.

“Isn’t a Cruxis crystal the only way to get wings?”

The blonde reaches into his pocket and retrieves a stone hardly bigger than a single coin of Gald. “I’ll explain, and then if you want this, you can say one word and it’s all yours.”

Genis is nodding his head with an unwavering gaze. Somehow, he had never felt more alive than he did in this very moment, and much like the rest of the confusing and complex feelings he had experienced since meeting Mithos, he could not decipher why.

“What would you do if I told you that half-elves have been oppressed since the beginning of time? That no matter how far back you look, this world’s history is littered with half-elven bodies?”

Furrowing his brows, Genis gives a shortened quip of an answer to allow the other boy to continue. “Well, I’d definitely believe you.”

“My full name is Mithos Yggdrasill, and I was the one who split the world in two. Even as a hero, I was hated-- _despised_. Ever since the ancient war, I have dedicated myself to creating a world where half-elves can live without fear of discrimination.” Mithos is frowning with a gaze stern and solemn. This conversation was about to play out in one of two ways: either Genis would take his hand and join as a member of Cruxis, or he would run back to his friends and declare him an enemy.

As much as he hoped for the former, he certainly could understand a reaction comparable to the latter.

“...So, an age of lifeless beings. A world where everyone can be the same,” Genis says barely above a whisper, and for once, Mithos can’t decipher the expression painted neatly on the other boy’s face.

“Genis, do you still trust me?”

“I--” He’s been rehearsing this word in his mind over and over to the point where it should have slipped off the tongue in a matter of moments; now, it won’t come out. Finally, he says it, but not without a healthy dose of _fear_ in his voice.

“Y-yes.”

“Even though you know what I’m trying to do, even if it opposes all your friends and their ideals?”

“Yes.”

A single-sided grin is beginning to creep its way across Mithos’ face. Genis seemed to be at a loss for words, but to Mithos’ great surprise, he wasn’t running away yet.

“Then, do you remember how I asked you to stay with me?” 

The silver-haired boy’s eyes widen, but there is no further response. Instead, Mithos continues.

“When you said _‘absolutely’_ , is your answer still the same now?”

Genis is placing his hand over Mithos’ open palm where the Cruxis crystal lies and their fingers interlock in perfect harmony.

_“Yes.”_

Mithos’ smile is genuine in a way that was both conniving and sweet, if those two opposing forces could coexist at all. Mithos truly was more like Zelos than he gave himself credit for; both men were examples of dialectics working in absolute congruence. Sweet, but malicious, real, but fake. Cold, but burning, and made up entirely of all the things they respectively hated. Near identical masks for near identical mana signatures.

“What do I do? Do I just equip this? Does it have a Key crest already?”

Mithos shakes his head, enclosing the Cruxis crystal back within the palm of his hand. “We should return to Welgaia to equip your Cruxis crystal. The transformation will be painful, but this gem already has a Key crest attached. You will most certainly not suffer the same fate as the chosen.”

“Mithos, can I--” Genis stops, finding himself truly at a loss for words this time. Fear pulsates throughout his system, but this what he was _born to do_ and he _knew_ it. He’s about to abandon everything he knows and fight for the enemy, but how much is the enemy truly the _enemy_ when their final goal of a world without discrimination is still the same?

“Yes, Genis?”

“Is it alright if I leave a note for my sister before we go? I just don’t want her to…” Again, he pauses. What didn’t he want her to do? _Worry?_ Goddess, he was about to join Mithos Yggdrasill himself, if there were a time for her to worry, then now would be it and he knew it.

“You care about her. Leave behind whatever you choose, and then we will leave for Welgaia.”

The silver-haired boy turns toward the cottage, preparing for his one last time stepping foot through its doors before he steps into the world he and Mithos will create together, hand in hand.

Tonight, his life changes forever, all because of a boy with wings the shade of prisms, a desire to see a world without discrimination, and a _marble-sized stone_.

//

Pain only lasts an instant as silver wings shoot through Genis’ back, each shard piercing through his skin like icicles to match Mithos’ heart, but as he gazes into the mirror with the overlord’s fingers entwined in his, he finds comfort in the iridescent shards jutting sharply in his wake.

“I didn’t realize they would be so beautiful.”

Mithos smiles, and this time, his grin is void of malice. “Do you like them, Genis?”

“Of course, I love them.” The sword that Lloyd had bought him to train with had been discarded by the side of his new bed and replaced by one formed of Cruxis’ finest materials. A glance is tossed in its direction, but Genis pays it no mind. 

“They’re the best gift I’ve ever been given, Mithos.”

//

“So, I guess we’re just sharing a bed now, huh?” Zelos laughs as he and Lloyd prepare for a night’s rest in the same room, as per _always_.

“What, is that a problem?” The brunette furrows his brows in confusion.

“When did I ever say it was a problem?”

Lloyd scratches his head and climbs beneath the blankets, retreating into his usual spot of comfort and warmth. “I mean, you didn’t. I just wanted to make sure.”

Genis had still not come back for the night, a passing thought that neither paid any mind to. By now, the two boys had found positions that could make sharing even the smallest, tightest quarters feel like home. Zelos presses his head into Lloyd’s chest, leading the brunette to entwine the other man in his arms in a tender embrace. This time, he can’t even deny that it was romantic; at this point, there was no way it could be anything else.

“Hey, Zelos?”

The redhead nuzzles to adjust his mouth into a sufficiently speakable position.

“What’s up, hunny? Can’t sleep already?”

“Nah, just wanted to ask you something, actually.” Lloyd’s breath is hot on Zelos’ skin, and he savours every minute of it the same way he does any time their bodies touch.

“‘Kay. Hit me with it.”

“Did you kiss me last night?”

He stops, because he doesn’t know what the right answer is anymore.

“Nah, you must have been imagining it. I’m tired, man. Let’s get some sleep.”

The two men drift into gentle, serene repose, and as Zelos feels Lloyd’s arms wrapped around him, he feels a sense of safety, security, and protection he hadn’t felt otherwise.

Now that he could feel, he could say one thing alone with full certainty: it was everything he could have wanted and more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am well aware of the TotA vibes here i just *clenches fist* have always wanted to see Zelos cut his damn hair out of sentimental value for some reason I am WEAK  
> [My commentary on this chapter: brags, regrets, and trivia!](https://twitter.com/flambydelrabies/status/1295026123492007936)


	9. Small Tragedies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally two smaller chapters but the flow was MUCH better this way. Grab yourself a box of tissues, you'll need it.  
> Commentary in end A/N.

_Twenty-first. Night. Monday._  
_Silhouette of the capitol in darkness._  
_Some good-for-nothing -- who knows why--_  
_made up the tale that love exists on earth._

_\- Anna Akhmatova_

//

Raine swears that there was absolutely _no way_ anyone could have left the front door swung open last night, but here she was, staring at the ajar hatches and wondering what in the name of _niflheim_ was going on.

Regal, the only one with a room to himself now that Zelos and Lloyd opted to share, is also the only one seated at Altessa’s table this morning, his expression thick in contemplation-- every time Regal’s normally solemn face has been painted with such concern, it spoke only of even further bad news.

The half-elf approaches with brows furrowed before addressing the former noble directly; gesturing toward the open door, her voice speaks of both concern and _confusion_. “Regal, do you know anything about this?”

In response, Regal stands, and with burning concern he places a creased note into Raine’s hands, scrawled on torn, crumpled, scraps. “This was left on the counter this morning addressed to you, Raine.”

Her bewilderment only grows stronger and more refined, but it quickly proliferates into sheer, unapologetic _panic_ as she recognizes Genis’ frenzied handwriting. Unraveling each fold, the feelings of panic nearly turn to hysteria instead when she reads the words scrawled on paper.

_Raine,_

_I can’t apologize for leaving you enough, but I’m with Cruxis now._

_I want to change the world, and I think that Mithos Yggdrasill and I can do that_

_together. The next time we see each other, we’ll be enemies, but_

_I will always love you - don’t ever forget that,_

_even if worst comes to worst._

_\- Genis_

Raine’s hands quake, and her voice breaks as she speaks the words “Regal, _what is this!?_ Is this some sort of _ransom note!?_ ”

“Perhaps there has been a mistake, or Yggdrasill has taken him hostage.”

She breaks free of her paralysis and throws the door to Lloyd and Zelos’ room open, looking desperately for her brother; if Genis wasn’t there, then it all but confirmed that Genis had abandoned them, whether of his own will or something far more sinister.

The open door reveals Lloyd and Zelos’ bodies intertwined and only a glaring absence of the half-elven boy she frantically sought. Desperate, she tries to reject all traces of the worst case scenario with little luck, as Genis’ betrayal becomes increasingly more impossible to deny by the minute. The world is never that easy.

“Lloyd, Zelos, did Genis come to bed last night!?”

The redhead rolls over and fluffs a hand through his newfound shaggy locks; the feeling was still vastly unfamiliar after so many years of gently flowing crimson hair, but more than that, it was _welcome_ . On this bright, sunny morning, he thinks next to nothing of Raine’s question, the same way he thinks nothing positive of the half-elf boy _in_ question. “Wasn’t paying attention, honestly.”

“Of course you weren’t paying attention. Clearly, the two of you were doing--” _Each other,_ perhaps? Raine stops her icy snarl in its tracks, because if she spoke those words into existence, she knew that even _if_ it were true, she would be speaking out of spite alone. Now that her brother was gone, the last thing she wanted to do was set bridges ablaze with the only people who could even _hope_ to bring him back.

Lloyd sits up, the blank stare spread across his face a constellation of _‘innocent’_ and _‘clueless’_. “Wait, what were we doing?”

Raine shakes her head, and the two boys had yet to see her exhibit such heart-skipping anxiety before as her hands quake and tremble. Instead of acknowledging Lloyd’s question, she cuts directly to the matter at hand, because this was _far more important_ than idle bickering.

“The door was left open last night, and this morning a note was found suggesting Genis betrayed us.” Raine plucks each crease open, leaving the note on full display; despite the tremors that rang throughout her body like a stifled scream, the moment Lloyd and Zelos could decipher the frantic lettering, it was clear as the Sylvaranti sky that the note was scrawled in Genis’ _very_ distinctive handwriting.

Raine’s sense of panic was now a contagious pandemic, particularly to Zelos, who shoots upright at a moment’s notice. The feeling in his stomach told him she wasn’t kidding, and neither was Genis. 

“Wait, Raine, what did you just say!?”

Clearly, considering Zelos knew the part of the story that had been carefully shrouded, he felt an anxiety that surged like a frigid flame upon hearing this horrifying news-- news that he knew he could have _prevented_ , nonetheless.

“I just said Genis has left a note stating that he has joined Cruxis, and it is _unclear_ whether this was a _choice_ or a ploy by Yggdrasill to _draw us out_ . Now, it seems that he is nowhere to be found, and neither of you have the _faintest clue_ where he could be.” Raine’s words crackle like lightning against pavement as she articulates each one with crisp diction, even in spite of the shrill anxieties that vibrate from her body. A lifetime of mothering a younger brother certainly created a force to be reckoned with-- beyond that, _feared_.

Zelos can’t hide it anymore, and there was no reason to keep protecting his mortal enemy at this point. There was no more damage that could be done now that Mithos was back atop his Cruxis throne and one of their companions had joined him. “He joined of his own free will. There’s no doubt about that.”

Raine shakes her head, trying to maintain her usual cool, composed demeanor and _failing_ . “Genis would _never_ do such a thing.”

Time to come clean, for better or for worse.

“That little blonde brat, Mithos? That’s Lord Yggdrasill using his Cruxis crystal to change forms. He was helping me get a Key crest on the condition that I told no-one. Threatened to come after my sister and everything.”

Lloyd is taken aback by this-- as he _should be_. “And this all happened without any of us knowing!?”

Raine takes a moment of silence to collect her thoughts, breathing _in_ , then _out_ slowly in an attempt to craft a strategy. There was little else she could do for now. “I suppose now that something of this magnitude has happened, we were far, _far_ too trusting.”

“No _kidding_ ,” Zelos tries his hardest not to snarl; he had been saying this since _day one_ . Not even _Raine_ , of all people, had noticed a _single_ thing. “Remember Yuan, that guy who gave us the Rheairds? He knew Mithos for thousands of years, and Mithos still killed him in cold blood.”

“Yuan is dead, _and_ Genis betrayed us?” Lloyd’s thoughts flurry, each one solemn, and above all else, _pissed off_. “Cruxis raised me as a soldier my entire life, just so that they could go off and do stuff like this!?”

Zelos’s frown speaks for itself. “After spending _however-the-hell_ long connected to that asshole telepathically, I feel like even you’d be surprised what they’re capable of at this point.”

By now, Regal and Sheena had overheard the commotion and joined them in the guest bedroom. Much to their dismay, all five heroes were well aware of the newfound cruel realities of their world, and a sense of grief raced across the room to match.

“So… what’s next, then?” Sheena drags her words out as if tied to lead bricks, because nobody else will break the silence. There was far too much weight on all their shoulders, or maybe just enough that their goals felt _real enough_ to carry through. They had to, after all; there was no going back now.

“Travelers of Tethe’alla, Altessa requests you in his study.” Speak of the devil, as they say, if the devil were a pink-haired teenage girl with an elaborate Key crest strewn across her chest. They follow, each companion dead quiet, as there was nothing left to be said.

The dwarf comes bearing good news, but such a figure of speech hardly says much; at this point, any news is good news, because _anything_ could be better than powerlessness and misplaced trust.

“You may sever the mana flow between the two worlds by forming pacts with the summon spirits on both sides of the barrier, and finally, with Origin himself, which will allow you to wield the Eternal Sword,” he says, and considering this was a task they had taken nearly halfway to completion already, Zelos figures it will be nothing short of easy. Easy would be nice. Easy would be _welcome._

“Seeing as we’ve already got three outta four of Tethe’alla’s done, this shouldn’t be too bad. Especially now that we’ve got those rheairds to play around with. Saves us all the walking. We can probably even draw out Genis that way if we wanna try and bring him back, too.”

“The summon spirits have yet to be awakened in both worlds at once, as the pacts are broken when the pact-maker dies-- as is the fate of all chosen.” Altessa seemed mournful at this statement; how many chosen had he seen come and go in his lifetime? How many did he save, and how many did he help send to their demise?

“Yeah, fate of the chosen for _now,_ but not for long. We’re gonna take Cruxis down and then nobody will have to be meaninglessly sacrificed!” Ever the gentle idealist, Lloyd was; someone had to be in these times of despair, and Zelos couldn’t be happier that it was him.

Altessa nods, hopeful as he will allow himself to be after many years watching the worlds wax and wane. Whether they were to be successful or another group of rebels doomed to fail was unknown, but much like all who had witnessed the horrors of Cruxis, he needed desperately to believe in something _more_ , so he did.

“I will mark the locations of the seals on your map, and you can return whenever you feel weary. Presea and I will assist you with anything you need, so long as you take down that damned organization.” With a few short flicks of the wrist, the four of Sylvarant’s seals are scrawled on Raine’s map, and a new journey begins-- one on their own _terms,_ own _goals,_ own _plans._

As the group of six breaks to a party of five, the idealists search the farthest clearings of the forest for a break in the treeline that would allow the Rheairds to pass. This proved a challenge with all the low-hanging branches strewn above them, shielding them from soaring through the sky.

“Raine, how are ya feeling?” Zelos pries without once stumbling in his words or his fine-tuned mask. Perhaps he was too cheery for the situation at hand, but he had much more time to process the betrayal than everyone else, who instead had it dropped upon them like sudden mounds of steel.

“I’m surprised to hear you ask, Zelos. Have your selfish antics finally dissipated?” The half-elf is emotionless, or if she isn’t, she certainly hides it well in comparison to the voice of warfare that had boomed only hours earlier.

“Heh. I do have a conscience under all those so-called _‘selfish antics’_ , you know.”

A subtle smirk crawls across Raine’s lips. “I suppose that is indeed a growth I’ve witnessed in you since we met.”

“Look, I’m sorry about Genis. I know I shoulda said something earlier, but my hands were tied.”

“I understand the love for a sibling, Zelos-- trust me. The choice was between mine and yours, and frankly, I would have made the same choice you did to protect my own.” She does not make eye contact, but Zelos feels her demeanor ease, even if only enough that it twinges against his angelic senses.

“Promise we’ll bring him back. Regardless of how well we did or _didn’t_ get along, we wouldn’t have gotten this far without him.” Zelos instinctually goes to twirl a rose-red lock around his finger, only to forget there is no longer anything there. It was nearly a relief in the same way he realized he hadn’t tossed a single _‘hunny’_ , _‘babe’_ , or other degrading, flirtatious comment towards the silver-haired maiden yet. There was still time, but somehow, he realizes he doesn’t actually _want_ to anymore.

In Sylvarant, he doesn’t have to be the Chosen of Mana, and when the worlds are combined, all he will have to be is Zelos Wilder. More importantly than that, within these subdued flashes of ease, he was finally starting to figure out the true, raw _viscera_ of who he was beyond that mask in ways he never had before.

Somehow, that no longer left him afraid, but he couldn’t even begin to identify whichever emotion had replaced it, much less whether it was good, bad, or somewhere in between. The filth inside retches and moans and Zelos realizes it’s _get better, make myself better_ or die.

For once, death had never looked less appealing.

//

“Y’know, this isn’t going to work if you can’t sit still, Zelos.”

He sits firmly on the ground, his eyes shut tight as can be while Sheena towers over him with a pair of scissors. A comical sight to warm sullied hearts.

“Oh, come on! Do you have any idea how long it’s been since I let anyone else do anything to my hair!?” The corner of Zelos’ eye perks, only for him to immediately jerk away upon seeing Sheena’s face hovering merely six inches from his.

_Snip._

Sheena snickers, and her voice echoes through his temples. How nice it was to hear anyone’s voice _other_ than Mithos’ in that part of his head, much less in a tangible fashion that existed _out_ of it.

“Of course I do. You were twelve the last time you got a haircut, and it was one of those silly bowl cuts. And the reason we’re doing this right now--”

_Snip._

“--Is because whatever you just did to your hair is uneven, it looks messy, and I’m not going to let you walk around with a bad haircut like that again if I can help you avoid it.”

Zelos grimaces at the thought of his last awful, _awful_ haircut- yet another memory he tried to push out of his mind at all costs. One couldn’t say _‘childhood trauma’_ without _‘awful haircuts’_ in the same sentence.

“Don’t make it too short, though, ‘kay? Just make it even and that’s it.”

“That’s exactly why I told you to sit still.”

_Snip._

“Okay.” 

Zelos begins to open his eyes and finds Sheena has since placed the scissors back in her never-ending pockets. Her face no longer hovers above his, and instead, she stands with her arms crossed and a one-sided smirk painted delicately across her face. Clearly, she was pleased with her creation-- or, _alternately,_ she was about to humiliate him beyond belief, which he wouldn’t put past her, either.

Finally, she unglues her eyes after inspecting it from every angle. “I think it’s all even now,”

Squinting, Zelos runs a hand through his newly trimmed, yet still shaggy, curly locks, and he finds himself as pleased with the results as he could have been. No humiliation was to be found; he’d had quite enough of that along this journey thus far. The last thing he needed was even more of it from a hack-job of a haircut.

“Thanks, Sheena. Pretty sure you got all the long bits outta there.”

Sheena is smiling now, and before much time has passed, she finds herself laughing cordially, of all things, before extending her wrist to help him off the ground. “Well, Zelos, you can never say that I don’t care about you now.”

“Always knew you did. This just extra-special confirms it for me.” He takes her hand and lifts himself off of the lush grass, observing the tiny locks of ruby hair that littered his seat in the green earth. It was almost like the stain of red that littered the snow ten years ago, if his crimson locks of hair were the blood of his past he had rid himself of, at last.

“Hey, Sheena?” he asks, shaking the last few stray hairs into the lush grass.

She raises a brow, heading back to join the others by the fire. “What’s up?”

“Thanks.”

“What? Let’s face it, would you _really_ let anyone else touch your _precious locks?_ ”

Zelos is shaking his head, grinning all the way. “Nah, I don’t mean that. I mean, thank you for everything you’ve done for me, on this journey and beyond. I don’t say that enough.”

“Ha. Or at all. Sounds like you really took what I said to heart, then.” Sheena folds her slender arms against her chest once more and carries on with haste.

The redhead rushes to catch up to his oldest friend, whose pink belt billows in the wind behind her like ribbons. “Well, guess I kinda realized that I have to if I want to survive in this cruel, _cruel_ world, much less to _save_ it.”

“Looks like the Zelos I knew all those years ago is finally coming back.”

Laughing, Zelos turns to Sheena and says “C’mon, Sheena. That Zelos never left. He just got a little jaded, that’s all.”

//

With the dim lighting, chambers of stairs and platforms, and creative use of the elements in its interior, The Temple of Fire resembled the seals in Tethe’alla in more ways than it didn’t. Walking through its dingy halls rang like deja-vu through the minds of the five heroes-- particularly Zelos, who used this opportunity to breathe a sigh of relief that he was _human_ again.

“This is so _boring_ ,” Zelos sighs as they pass through yet another corridor, followed by another bridge, then some stairs. Repeat endlessly until the seal room is found. One foot in front of the other, as if his footsteps had followed those identical paths before. After all he had endured, is that _not_ deja-vu?

No-one responded to the redhead’s idle statement. While he was becoming more overtly attuned to the feelings of those around him, he still _perfectly_ disregarded the tone of the room surrounding him in _this very moment_. Clearly, he had forgotten that he was the only one who could see through Mithos’ eyes and watched him deceive their friend, then murder one of his own companions in cold, seething blood; while these things were not news to him, his inside knowledge made him surprisingly callous to everyone else’s pain, who considered it nothing short of appalling, disgraceful news.

“So, Raine, if you were Genis, where would you hide?” he asks in an attempt to break the silence, then potentially create a plan of action even beyond that. There was no use ignoring the glaring, blazing flames that engulfed them with lips pursed and eyes turned to the ground. Disregarding the fire would only burn them alive.

Raine frowns in even further, _piercing_ silence. “We already know he’s with Cruxis. What we don’t know is what exactly that means.”

Zelos wraps his arm around Lloyd, pulling him close and relishing in the feeling of the brunette’s body heat radiating into his own. Was he being silly, or sweet? Not even he knew anymore. “So, hunny, where exactly is Cruxis’ hangout, then?”

“Welgaia, City of Angels. That’s where I grew up. It’s at the top of the Tower of Salvation, right where it hits Derris-Kharlan.”

“So, every time you want to come or go, you have to walk all the way up all those stairs?” Perhaps this quip of a comment was in poor taste among solemn companions.

Lloyd shakes his head. “Nah. We’ve got special portals for that. But it does mean that if we’re looking for Genis, our best bet is to keep doing exactly what we’re doing now. Between the seals and the Tower of Salvation, there’s not really anywhere else he could be, so we’re definitely gonna run into each other eventually.”

All five companions stop together, observing shrinelike surroundings near-identical to those in Tethe’alla. Deja vu at its finest.

“Well, this is the seal room, from the looks of it. We’ve made it this far,” Sheena says as she prepares to call upon the Summon Spirit of Fire. After all, find the seal room, make the pact, it’s all the same, with the glaring difference being now Zelos no longer must strip himself of his humanity at each temple. Now, instead, they were here to fight and win not only for the sake of one world’s prosperity, but _both._

The moment the battle began, Zelos’ autopilot kicked in with both immediacy and urgence. _Find the seal room, make the pact. Defeat the summon spirit, fight until you can’t anymore._ _All the same._

Efreet’s hellfire swarmed the room in frenzied rage, engulfing every corner with the same scorching, burning feeling that had matched the sensation in Zelos’ chest from the moment Altessa made him a Key crest. This time, as they fought the summon spirit with great caution, the fact that there was something missing was glaringly obvious to Zelos and all his friends; what was missing had a face and a name, and no-one dared to speak it, but the absence certainly made the battle far more strenuous, and above all, _troublesome_.

Beyond the lack of a skilled mage to use arcane artes, this fight is Zelos’ first since regaining feeling throughout his body; he stumbles as he tries to balance his strength throughout each limb, in the same way he had to re-learn how to fight when he lost his humanity in the first place. Now, he was well aware of his own body’s limits, and as he gives the fight all that he has in him, he still struggles not to push himself to the very edge with each swing of a sword. Balance is key, and he had yet to find it.

_Defeat the summon spirit. Make the pact. All the same._

Zelos notices Efreet is weakened, and he charges with agile grace to strike down the summon spirit with all his strength. Dashing through a Flame Lance, he disregards the scorching sensations that engulf his bare skin in order to deal the final blow.

“Ugh…” As Efreet falls to the ground, so does Zelos, who collapses directly onto his knees.

“Zelos!” Lloyd rushes over, placing an arm around the redhead while Sheena completes the pact. His skin sears in every spot the spell scalded it, much unlike the way the heat of Lloyd’s hands soothed and mended every wound.

It hardly takes long for Lloyd to hand Zelos a melange gel and help him back onto his feet with an eternally gentle touch. “You can’t keep overexerting yourself like that! You could really hurt yourself.”

“Drawbacks of being a real person again, I guess.”

A flash of ember light engulfs the room, signifying that their work here was completed and that it was time to progress to the next rehearsal of the dance he knew all-too-well. The Temple of Water, where the same steps will be followed in exactly the same rhythm and pace.

“That’s our first summon spirit down in Sylvarant,” Sheena says. “Temple of Water is next, I think.”

“Yes, we should be leaving.” Regal leads the trek back to the front entrance, and everyone else begins to follow suit as they tend to any wounds from such an arduous battle. Lloyd then turns to Zelos with eyes filled with sincerity, determination, and something else-- whatever it was, it was far more tender than the rest, and he displayed it _infinitely_ more fiercely.

“Hey, Zelos?”

Lloyd’s words ring through the other man’s ears like only the finest songs could. “What’s up, hunny?”

The brunette’s tone becomes quiet, but stern, and even in this transition, it never once loses the beautiful, poetic qualities evident to Zelos alone.

“Y’know, I just… want you to be safe and look after yourself. And if you can’t do that for you, can you promise you’ll do it for me instead?”

Understandably, Zelos is taken aback by such a statement, as he can’t remember the last time he truly cared about himself in _any_ capacity. But, perhaps, maybe he could finally start to try-- and maybe doing it for Lloyd could be the start he desperately needed until he had the strength to do it for himself.

“Heh. Guess I can do it for you, at least for now.”

Anything short of trying and he’d be a liar. He may be a good one, but he certainly didn’t _want_ to be. Through the eyes of the boy he loved, Zelos was finally beginning to see that he is worth more than just becoming a sacrifice, and beyond that, he is worth more than the insecurities that rule his thoughts and devour him whole. 

A start of something beautiful, even if nothing more.

//

By the time the Thoda docks were in sight, the sun dipped below the horizon and the last boat had set sail to the geyser. Even the use of Rheairds on their side was not enough to beat the _tick, tick, ticking_ clock, and with nowhere on the tiny island to land, the only viable option was to stay at the inn until dawn to catch the first boat of the morning.

Despite the unspoken consensus, Lloyd speaks it into existence regardless. “Do you think we should just grab a room here for the night?”

“Yeah, let’s do that.” Sheena arranges rooms for a minimal amount of Gald; Zelos thinks back to manipulating the clerk at the House of Guidance in Tethe’alla for free room because of his chosen title, and how in this moment he’d much rather pay a few hundred Gald than flaunt a title he hated.

 _‘Heh. What is this, character development?’_ he laughs to himself, before the gripping realization hits that he’s hardly a ghost of the person he was when he started this journey to begin with. His carefully-selected defence mechanisms were all crashing down around him of his own free will, much like the Hanged Man cut from his binds-- stagnant no more.

Tonight, as the five heroes began to rest for the evening, Regal appeared far more preoccupied than usual as he sat by the window, staring through the glass in eternally pensive fashion. If Zelos chose to drop the mask enough to be seen as something more than everything he’s always hated, then maybe now was the time to build some connections on top of that.

Here goes nothing.

“Say, Regal, you’ve been lookin’ a little down lately. What’s up?”

The older man glances up at his visitor, and his expression is long-since impossible to unravel. “It’s unusual for you to join me on a night such as this, Zelos.”

Zelos’ disdain and regret for letting Genis slip directly into Mithos’ cruel fingers was showing as plain as a blemish jutting in plain sight, the same way he viewed Genis’ betrayal as a reflection of him as a person. At this point, he couldn’t afford _not_ to call his companions friends.

“Well, guess we’ve just never really had a chance to talk one-to-one before, even though we’ve been traveling together for Goddess-knows-how-long at this point. Talk to me about what’s on your mind, man. Mind if I sit?”

“As you wish, chosen.”

Frowning, Zelos slumps down the wall until he hits the ground below. “Hey, now. I’m not the chosen in this world. No need for all the formalities.” 

Stifling silence ensues.

“So, you’re not much of a talker, huh, Regal?”

 _‘Hmph’_. “I suppose there’s simply much to feel apprehensive about in these trying times.”

“How about ya start by telling me about those handcuffs, then? You’re not a prisoner in this world the same way I’m not the chosen in it, either.”

Regal seemed taken aback by this statement, particularly because such poignance was coming from _Zelos_ , of all people. All the threads that made up Regal’s self-imposed silence were slowly, but surely, beginning to unravel.

“There are some sins that transcend the physical world and mark one’s soul instead. Even this world bears reminders of my sin.”

The redhead shoots a quick glance in Regal’s direction, long enough to catch his attention. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Retrieving Presea’s pendant, Regal dangles the small piece of metal from the chain in his hand; the glow in the sunlight could warm even the coldest of hearts. “Much to my surprise, Altessa’s assistant was the sister of the woman I loved. She gave me her family’s crest on the condition that I stop punishing myself.”

“All that, and you’re still wearing those shackles?”

Regal stays dead silent; Zelos recognizes that no response is a response in and of itself. Still, the redhead sighs, bringing a hand to his hair. 

“You see this, man? My long, beautiful red locks were the last thing that tied me to the part of myself I hated, and I let it go. Cut ‘em all off and never looked back. And you know what? Maybe if you get rid of those shackles, that will be the same thing you need to move on.”

“This wisdom is unusual coming from you, Zelos. I suppose with that justification, I’ll have to consider it.”

“Cool. What do you say you get some sleep, then, big guy?” The redhead gives a quick wave before shutting the door to his room and crawling into bed with the only person he had ever loved, who waited patiently for his return. Another night spent in Lloyd’s arms, never once to take such simple sensations for granted again. 

He never thought he’d live for the little things.

The next morning, as everyone pulls themselves with ease into the light of day, the glow of the sun through the window catches on everything in the building, save for one glaring detail.

“Hey, Regal! Looking good!” Zelos exclaims as the older man walks down the stairs with well-built arms at his sides, free of his shackles.

An exhale after holding his breath all his life, the first truth after years of lies. Atonement had never looked or _felt_ so good.

//

Find the seal room, defeat the summon spirit, make the pact, _over and over and over_ again.

The sound of running water echoes everywhere the heroes pace, and as they traverse this temple with a near-silent _pitter-patter_ against the stone floors, it’s identical to the rest of the seals in all the ways that mattered. They were all beginning to look the same now, and every footstep followed the same maze of patterns as the others. In Zelos’ mind, every step taken forward was one step closer to being out of the temple and never having to come back. That was the one, _single_ part of it all that mattered to him.

_Over and over and over--_

He can’t help but think he feels more like the hero sent to save the worlds now than he did when he was on the journey of regeneration. At least this time, Zelos is here of his own free will and _choice_ , rather than so-called _fate_. Destiny is truly disgusting.

They stop before the seal room, and the portal brings them to the altar. Another pact, another battle. The process mattered less than the end result, which matched every other temple, every other seal, every other _pact_ to begin with.

“Undine! In order to save the worlds from their twisted fate, I ask that thy establish a pact with me!” Sheena cries with daring confidence; she had become a professional at this by now, and her voice never once broke or waivered as she called to the summon spirits. Instead, she carried herself with such force and determined poise that Zelos could colour himself _impressed_.

“Then begin.”

Each seal without Genis was becoming increasingly more of a bother, as Zelos had to fall back and cast the lightning spells that the nimble mage would in order for everyone else to maintain the frontline assault. Zelos never thought he would find himself thinking it even for a passing _minute_ , but he really did miss the _brat_ , and even the thought of him made Zelos’ stomach pang with regret. It was a feeling nearly worse than anxious masochism, because it was not based in fear; it was based in things he should have done, but chose not to instead.

While Zelos is caught in his reverie of a world where Genis had stayed, a harsh, restrictive noise rings through his ears, only for him to look over and see--

 _Lloyd._ Undine had his head shoved underwater, unable to see, unable to breathe, and in his state, he barely had the strength to fight back. A nightmare only from the most pitiful corners of his mind-- the same place the images of his mother’s vacant eyes come from, the same place her body decomposes in even ten years later. He couldn’t save her, but he could save _him._

A jolt of static electricity vibrates through Zelos’ body, and as his hands begin to shake, he _cannot control_ the sheer indignation raging throughout his body-- or even worse, the sheer desperation in his mind. It was the worst kind of panic, the fateful kind like nothing short of a match dipped in kerosene, waiting to be lit ablaze--

_I can’t lose you I can’t lose you I can’t lose you_

A hand with the strength of an arsenic shot thrusts Lloyd from Undine’s spell, and with their arms tied together, he finds himself unable to contain the burning, searing, _deathly_ emotions surging through his body-- one mortal slash of his blade turns to two, then _five_ , then _ten_ , until the summon spirit is on the ground recoiling. 

That changes nothing. He keeps going. 

Fifteen, _twenty._

_I CAN’T LOSE YOU_

“Zelos! _Stop!_ ” Sheena screams, taking both hands and shoving the redhead so his silver sword clangs against the floor. The blast of a Serpent Seal booms from Sheena’s cards with blinding force, and the battle is complete.

_Over and over and over, ad infinitum._

“Hey, what happened? I’ve never seen you like that before.” Lloyd untagled his arm from Zelos’, and for the first time since the day that they met, the eyes that stared back at the redhead nearly reeked of _fear_.

As they follow their footsteps back to the geyser outside the temple, Zelos can’t even _fathom_ what to say next. There is nothing to say, really, other than the few words that eventually end up leaving his mouth--

“I was scared of losing you-- really scared.”

“Zelos, you’re silly sometimes. All I would have needed is a lemon gel or a quick first aid spell and I’d be fine.”

Deep in his bones, his veins, and _everything in between_ , he knew that Lloyd was his most glaring vulnerability, and the uncontrollable feelings of boiling wrath he felt only moments ago solidified it.

 _‘He will be your downfall’_ , Mithos told him, and he knew in his heart that wherever he was, Mithos could feel the satisfaction of being sickeningly, unmistakably _right_.

//

Asgard had to be the most beautiful city in Sylvarant they’d laid eyes upon yet, at least to Zelos, whose tired lids forever filled with longing for better days. The intricate buildings designed around sprawling mountains and a gentle breeze that ruffled his shaggy hair could not compare to anything else they had seen to that date; sure enough, there was no better place to rest for the night before continuing on to the Temple of Wind the following day.

“Yo, Sheena! Where ya going?” Zelos exclaims as the summoner breaks from the party in silence, emotionless.

Her head darts back, looking the redhead in the eyes before stopping entirely. “Just going for a walk. If you want to join, you can.”

Hands in his pockets, Zelos waltzes up to his oldest friend and the two companions stroll through the windy city with glowing hearts. Silence engulfs them, but words need not be spoken for now, until suddenly, they are.

“Y’know. You and Lloyd are soulmates.” Sheena glances over at the redhead, and her tone radiates warmth like the sunset on their skin.

“Huh. What makes you say that?” he asks, but his voice speaks without a shred of disagreement.

The summoner sighs. “Zelos, how long have we known each other again? In that _entire time,_ I’ve never seen you look at _anyone_ the way you look at him.”

“Heh. One of those little things you don’t notice when you’re caught up in it, I guess.”

A quick, sharp laugh. “You also haven’t used any pet names for anyone other than him in Goddess knows how long. You don’t even call anyone else _‘hunny’_ anymore.”

Zelos is frowning now, because he hadn’t noticed that minute detail, either.

“I don’t know why him, Sheena. Never been anyone else. ‘Specially not a _dude._ Whatever this is, it feels _right,_ and that’s the part that matters to me.”

“Ha. I’ll admit I didn’t expect it from a notorious skirt-chaser like you, either.”

“Oh, _no!_ What _ever_ will the _Royals of Tethe’alla_ think!?” Zelos’ voice drips and _oozes_ with thick sarcasm as he places his head in his palm. Even if it _was_ to be a concern for him, once the chosen system was to be abolished, nothing he did would matter to the monarchy anyways. Not _‘Chosen of Tethe’alla’_ \-- just Zelos, with nothing more than bad memories of the past and beautiful ones of the future.

“Hilarious. Let’s get headed back now.” 

Zelos was appreciative of these newfound moments with Sheena: ones where they could be silly, they could be serious, he could truly speak his mind without fear. Perhaps he had finally _cut the bullshit_ in a way that mattered, and perhaps he had taken just one more step towards removing the mask.

As the sun sets, the colours match the glow in their hearts, and old, wilted flowers bloom once more.

//

Darkness radiated from the Temple of Wind-- something that the party had become unaccustomed to at that point, considering the identical labyrinth of every temple in both worlds combined. Each of Sylvarant’s thus far were filled with lava, waterfalls, and some sort of life-threatening gimmick that kept them on their toes as much as redundant corridors could. The near-blackness of this temple, however, echoed tales of the Temple of Darkness in Tethe’alla, where Zelos became lost inside his own mind, then nearly lost his _life_ at the hands of the summon spirit.

 _‘This time, I’m a hero, and not just a pawn…’_ Perhaps if he repeats it enough times, he’ll speak it into reality. Maybe he was a hero, and maybe he was a fool. Maybe he was only a hero the way Mithos once was. Maybe, in the end, they were _all_ fools; the only thing that time alone will tell once the pacts are formed and the Eternal Sword is in their hands.

And speaking of the Eternal Sword--

“Say, guys, now that Genis isn’t with us, who’s gonna wield the Eternal Sword?”

Lloyd sighs, as that question had yet to be spoken despite running in circles through everyone’s heads, _over and over and over again_. “I’ll do it. We’ll look for a way to make that ring, and then I’ll wield the sword.”

It was only fitting for Lloyd to be the one to do so; after all, he was the knight in shining armour here, the one to betray Cruxis itself just to change the world. It only made sense for the one who deserted Cruxis to be the one to bring them to their knees.

“It would appear we’ve made it to the seal room.” Regal’s voice booms, spoken with a newfound level of certainty and determination; more than just a prisoner of his own mind, at last.

Fight the spirit. Win the battle. Survive, make the pact, save the world. It couldn’t be more the same as Sheena, Regal, and Lloyd finish off the trio of Sylphs in unison.

“We bestow you our power,” _Blah, blah, blah,_ Zelos thinks as the pact is completed _._ Get it over with, overcome it so as to bring the world back on the path to prosperity-- genuinely this time.

All the same. All the same. All the same.

//

Climbing the Tower of Mana felt endless, but Zelos could only wonder how much it must pale to climbing the Tower of Salvation that stretched to the heavens. _‘Here’s hoping we’ll never have to do that, huh?’_ he mulls as he places one foot in front of the other, one stair above the next. Mind-numbing, but beyond anything else, _exhausting,_ as his legs threaten to give out beneath him. All he could do was continue, after all: one foot in front of the other, one breath _in_ , one breath _out._

“Hey, Zelos?” Despite the fact that his question wasn’t urgent by _any means,_ Lloyd catches up to the redhead with haste.

“What’s up, hunny? Wanted to hear my _beautiful_ voice?”

Lloyd’s face flushes a rosy shade of pink, noticeable to Zelos, but likely not the rest of his companions enough to matter. Not that it would, in any sense. By now, everyone else couldn’t care less. 

“I wanted to know if I could see your wings again.”

Surprised by such a sudden request, Zelos raises a single brow, but still, he doesn’t recoil. “I guess the last time you saw my wings was when I had my sword pointed at your throat.”

“Ha, yeah. I like things a lot better with us now, to say the least.”

The walls of the Tower of Mana illuminate with a pale sunset glow while Zelos’ golden wings erupt from his back, dazzling everyone around him with their sheer brilliance. They no longer bleed, and despite his regained sense of feeling, they no longer sear with twisting, burning sensations every time he extends or retracts them. More than that, they do not tear with every movement, instead flowing in tune with his body’s energy in subtle ways he couldn’t imagine before. He never thought he would say it, but Zelos was almost growing fond of the cursed wings that spread from his back like a parasite. Maybe sometimes even parasites can feel like home.

“Pretty weird, isn’t it?”

On the contrary, the brunette’s eyes only widen. “No, of course not. Honestly, I think they’re kind of beautiful, actually.” A sharp, stilted pause. “Kind of like you, Zelos.”

That had to be the most romantic thing Zelos had ever heard, because despite it being born of clumsy, inexperienced nature, he knew that Lloyd _meant it_ with every inch of his being. The words mattered less than the intent behind them, and even beyond that, the mouth they _breathed from._

“Hey, lovebirds, come on. We’re at the final seal.” Sheena had taken to joking with them above all else, because the way Lloyd and Zelos stammered and blushed was a true sight for sore eyes on such a bleak, devastating journey. What a beautiful concept love was, something to warm even the most hardened of hearts and the stars back to sullied skies. Maybe even someone like Zelos deserved to love after all.

Seal. Altar. Battle. Pact. Swing of the sword, incantation of spells, teamwork, and the spirit is defeated with the _power of friendship_. Rinse and repeat. Thankfully for Zelos, this was the last one, and then he never had to step foot in a godforsaken temple again-- at least, here in Sylvarant. By now, he was seven-eighths through creating a life worth living, and then it would be blue skies and words spun into gold, and that was the part that mattered.

The redhead left his body for this fight, instead allowing muscle memory to take over and duel the summon spirit much the same as the last. It was gruelling, _mind-numbing_ work, but by the time Luna and Aska had fallen to their knees, the battle felt as though it was over before it had even begun.

“Good work, everyone. We should set up camp for the night and discuss further actions tomorrow.” Raine is particularly solemn, deciding to take the lead to exit the seal room and drift gently to the back once the party reaches the spiral staircase. Her melancholy aura is clear as day, but nobody dares provoke her and see where that despair leads. Despite any of this, sadness burns in her heart, and it burns in everyone else’s as well the moment they step foot within her presence. As much as she tried to remain calm, cool, and composed, her feelings were contagious.

“This spot is nice,” Lloyd says, pointing to a thicket filled with lush trees. It was as good a spot as ever, really; putting aside the fact that they were no longer wanted in this world, even the monster population severely decreased in comparison to the declining world, leaving them with little fear of sleeping in the open. It was simple enough that they could truly camp anywhere and be content.

While everyone sets up the fire for the night, Lloyd instead finds himself seated by the trunk of a tree that seemed to stretch toward the heavens, and minutes later, he beckons for Zelos to join him.

“Hey. Check this out.”

Upon Zelos dropping himself to the ground next to the brunette, he notices Lloyd with a slim dagger in his hand and the letter _L+_ carved into the wooden trunk.

“What’s this all about?”

“Here. Carve your initial next to mine.” He passes the knife to Zelos, and his stomach drops upon having a slender blade in his hands again. This time is different, and he knows it; that’s what matters. It’s _all_ that matters.

_L+Z_

He’s shaking now, and then his head collapses onto Lloyd’s shoulder.

“Hey, what’s wrong, Zelos?”

Zelos brings a hand to his face, drawing himself ever closer to the boy clothed entirely in the colour he thought he hated, all the while gripping a weapon in his hands he thought he _despised_.

“I dunno how to explain it any better than this, but this is the first good memory I’ve ever had with a dagger in my hands.”

Lloyd says nothing; he doesn’t need to, as he draws the boy into his chest and they sit there in fluttering harmony, much like the same feeling of butterflies that existed in their chests and stomachs. Everything about it was nothing less than beautiful, just the way he had always wanted and thought that he never once deserved.

The rest of their companions sit by the fire that illuminates the trees, and Raine’s melancholy nature becomes increasingly, _glaringly_ more apparent by the minute. Not that anyone could blame her; nobody chose to speak the reason for her sadness into existence, even if they all knew what it was. Perhaps, however, that wasn’t the best course of action.

Finally, Sheena places herself down on the ground next to the scholar and chooses to break the silence. “Raine. Are you okay?”

“I’ll be fine,” she spoke in return, but the way her hands trembled told a vastly different narrative of sadness and fear.

Sheena turns a quick glance to the older woman. “It’s about Genis, isn’t it?”

“I suppose it doesn’t take an academic or a scholar to figure that out.” A quick, sharpened pause ensues, followed by an even sharper exhale. “I raised Genis after we were chased out of Heimdall and our mother lost her mind. He’s the only family I have left, and I must find him at all costs.”

“Sounds like you really have a special connection with him, then.”

“I had my concerns about his draw to Cruxis’ ideals, but never with his friendship with Mithos. I believe in Lloyd’s plan for a better world, and all I want is for _all_ of us to be able to live in peace, together.”

“Well,” Sheena turns her head to the two boys asleep in each others’ arms, a half-smile drawn across her face. “Let’s hope these idiots really _can_ make that happen.”

“What is it that draws you to Zelos, Sheena?” Raine asks of pure curiosity. A diversion, perhaps-- she had grown tired of talking about her brother, as there was little left to say. Instead, her question had been ringing throughout her mind for longer than she could remember, but not once did she dare put it into tangible words.

The summoner laughs quietly while the remainder of her companions dream under the stars and sprawling coils of tree branches above.

“The two of us, we’ve known each other since we were practically babies. Believe it or not, we even _dated_ at one point.”

Raine raises a brow in subtle fashion. “I could certainly believe that.”

“His heart wasn’t in it, and I don’t think mine was, either. He was unfaithful more than once, and trying to get him to open up was near impossible.” She stops, gesturing broadly to Zelos and Lloyd once more, whose bodies entwined in one another like perfect pieces of a puzzle, created to fit none other.

“But now he’s found someone who actually makes him feel something, and I want to see him happy… for once.”

There was nothing Raine could say in response to that statement that could truly do it justice, and now, as she finds herself gazing upon her sleeping companions, she can’t help but softly smile in return.

No matter the two people who shared such a bond, love was a beautiful thing to witness.

//

There was not a single delicate feeling that Mithos possessed-- everything was harsh, bitter and cruel, and his stunted emotional range creeped from sadness, to anger, to spite, to _pride_ . But for the first time since he lost Martel four thousand years ago, an unfamiliar and _unwelcome_ feeling of tenderness has entered his heart, and all he could think about was how to kill it once more.

With his body mere inches from Genis’ and slender fingers grazing over the silver-haired boy’s cheek, youthful Mithos finds himself alive with the feeling of _home_ for the first time since he last saw his sister. What began as careful manipulation became benevolence towards the first person who chose to follow by his side of his own will in what felt like a millennia; after all, perhaps he _was._

Maybe, so long as he kept his head on his shoulders, _much unlike_ the chosen of Tethe’alla, this same tenderness did not have to become a weakness, and could instead be something to use to his advantage, some way, _somehow_.

“I want to change the world with you,” Genis whispers, and his voice is no longer filled with ice, but gentle, blazing fire.

“And I can no longer imagine doing it with anyone but you by my side.”

He knew _every inch of this_ was born of power, control, and manipulation, but now, as he examines the first feeling of warmth in his chest in four thousand years, a shred of truth occurs to him that there may be something genuine in it after all. Beyond this, he doesn’t care until he realizes he is making the same mistakes he chastised Zelos for.

 _‘That is strange,’_ he thinks, _‘You would need a conscience to feel love, that is something I know I must have lost eons ago.’_

He runs his fingers through the other boy’s hair, thinking of all the ways they can spend eternity together in his world.

Was love truly beautiful when born of power and control? Was love truly beautiful _at all_ , or simply a point of weakness?

He doesn’t know, and he doesn’t care to find out, so he pushes the word _‘love’_ to the pit of his stomach, never to be found again, just where it belongs.

//

All the pacts in Sylvarant had been completed with the utmost grace and care, leaving the only place left to go none other than the one Zelos wished never to return to-- his homeland of Tethe’alla, where the only thing that made him who he was is the title he wished to purge himself of to no avail.

As the Rheairds soar through open skies, the clear and crisp air of Sylvarant turns to muddied gray in a single, sullied blink of an eye. Returning to Tethe’alla was something Zelos was dreading, because the last thing he wanted was to hear ‘ _chosen, chosen, chosen’_ ringing through his ears-- even less than that, to hear the words _‘why isn’t the world saved yet?’_ or _anything_ to that very degree from people who couldn’t even begin to understand the hell he’d endured. The newfound complexities of the worlds and human nature were far too complicated to explain to a layperson who only wanted their crops to grow once more.

“Alright folks, how about me and Lloyd meet you in Flanoir in a bit? I got something I need to do,” Zelos leaves himself a mystery, as he always was, even with his intentions written neatly on his face.

“Fine, then.” Raine says as the frigid winds of the north fly through her hair. “Whatever it is, be back here by tomorrow at the latest. We still have a task to accomplish.”

Upon reaching the snowy city, their rheairds diverge, with Lloyd and Zelos heading directly to the southeast quarter. As he clings to Zelos’ chest on their windy excursion, Lloyd asks “Say, where are we going, anyways?”, pensive and puzzled. Clearly, he trusts Zelos enough not to _kidnap_ him, by any means, but the sudden joyride was unexpected and decided on painfully short notice.

“There’s just somebody I want you to meet, that’s all,” and that was all he needed to say. 

//

_Knock-knock._

The door to the Abbey swings open, revealing exactly the person Zelos was hoping to see-- its only full-time inhabitant, Seles Wilder.

“Big brother!”

He smiles and takes her into his arms, and this time, he can feel every moment of it. Everything he dreamed of and more, with nothing holding him back. “Told ya I’d come back, didn’t I?”

“Can you feel things again? _And_ you got a haircut!?” Seles asks; how fitting she asks of the transformation, considering his idle contemplations only moments before. Like brother, like sister.

He breaks from the embrace, one hand placed firmly on her shoulder. “Sure did, and sure can. Took a trip to Sylvarant and everything.”

Seles glances to her left and spies Lloyd, who stands doe-eyed with his hands placed firmly in his pockets. Despite the fact that he still had little idea what was going on-- _clueless,_ as always-- the words _‘big brother’_ certainly tipped him off. 

“Who’s this?” she asks with a single brow raised.

“Ah, that’s Lloyd! He’s…” The redhead stops, because he actually has _no idea_ how to finish that sentence, much less to even _begin_ to continue it at all. At this point, what _is_ Lloyd to him?

“...He’s my bud.”

Seles’ stare could kill, but any emotions in her expression were unclear at best-- a Wilder family tradition. “So, you went to Sylvarant and brought home a _‘bud’_?”

“Well, ehh-- _it’s complicated_.” Far more complicated than was worth explaining, anyways, even to his own sister. “I mean, I just wanted to introduce you two, y’know.”

“The last time you came wanting to introduce me to someone, it was that girl you were _in a relationship_ with.” His younger sister certainly wasn’t wrong, but Zelos had been doing his best to skirt around words like _‘love’_ and _‘romance’_ as if his life depended on it, even if he _knew_ them to be true. After all, despite his wide array of knowledge about wooing women who couldn’t have cared less about him, love in and of itself was still vastly unfamiliar to him.

“Hey, uh…” Lloyd scratches his head. “My name’s Lloyd, it’s nice to meet you, Seles. Do you do handshakes?”

“I guess so.” A firm, impersonal shudder of her hand was given, and he could see the younger of the two Wilders glaring daggers at him. “Just so you know, whoever or _whatever_ you are to my brother, if you hurt him, you’re dead meat.”

“N-no! Absolutely not! Zelos is _special_ to me!” Lloyd exclaims; the last thing he wants is to get on Seles’ _bad terms_ a mere fifteen minutes into meeting her.

It may have been a threat, but Zelos couldn’t help but chuckle at his sister’s staunch protectiveness, much less Lloyd’s comical stammering in return. The only two people he ever trusted, acting just as he would expect.

To Seles, the word _‘special’_ escaping the brunette’s lips in such frantic fashion was all she needed to solidify her suspicions, causing her to turn back to her brother and point a finger directly at his chest.

“And, Zelos, _you_ better not hurt _him,_ either.”

He couldn’t blame her for that calculating statement, by any means, with his long history of breaking hearts and loveless sex considered. This was different, though, and instead, Zelos grabs Lloyd by the shoulder, pulling him directly into his side. “Trust me, sis, that's exactly the opposite of what I want.”

“I’ll believe you, then-- at least for _now._ ” She smiles, gesturing beyond the wooden doorframe. “So, Lloyd and Zelos, how about you come in for some tea?”

And so they do; with the warmth in their hearts, to the Wilder siblings, it feels like nothing short of being a family once again-- and to Lloyd, the delicate moments of tenderness feel like _having_ a family for the very first time. 

Perhaps the word _‘family’_ no longer had to ring heavy over any of their heads, when such moments of gentleness and sympathy could coexist with all the poor memories and trauma.

//

Meeting the rest of the party was like walking into a wall of ice following the bright, cheery and warm glow that preceded this trip back to Flanoir. A shiver vibrates down Lloyd’s spine, because as much as it was beautiful, it was frigid beyond belief-- despite Welgaia’s cold, quiet walls of steel, _‘cold’_ was a feeling he wasn’t used to in such a literal sense.

Contrarily, Flanoir sends shivers down Zelos’ spine for all the wrong reasons; every time a tiny speckle of a snowflake touches his skin, he smells blood and fights the urge to rub his skin raw all over again. It tingles in all the worst ways, wet and frigid, and out of the corner of his eye, he sees the colour red no matter where he goes.

The sooner they get off of this continent, the better.

“C’mon, Lloyd, let’s hurry it along here,” Zelos says with a voice as cold as the ice that surrounded them. Hastily, he grabs the brunette by the arm and drags him toward the inn; thankfully, it takes minimal effort to find it, and even less to locate their friends, allowing for Zelos’ thoughts to race no longer.

“Welcome back,” Regal speaks upon the two boys successfully finding the rooms that had been graciously left waiting for them. “Was your detour successful?”

Zelos glances at Sheena, who prepares her bed for the night in silence. “Yeah. It was nice. Just someone I wanted Lloyd to meet, that’s all.” The summoner _knew_ , and she simply smiled as she adjusted the blankets to her liking.

Lloyd finds himself fascinated by the flurries of tiny, white snowflakes that dance beyond the window, and in his ecstasy, he retreats back outside the inn’s doors with a leather cape draped around his shoulders to fight against the frigid air.

In all of his childlike innocence, he had no idea that snow could be anything other than beautiful. He reaches a gloved arm outward, watching as snowflakes create a home in his open palm; each tiny speckle dissolves within seconds, and with all their elegance and purity, he almost wished they wouldn’t.

 _“Lloyd,”_ he hears from behind, barely above a whisper, but undeniably his own name; for once, he does not recognize the voice immediately as it rings through his ears. He assumed it had to be Zelos, but the absence of the all-too-familiar flutter that proliferated throughout his being when the redhead spoke his name said otherwise. And if it wasn’t Zelos following, who _was_ it?

He turns around, careful to place a single hand on the hilt of one of his blades in case it was needed. When he sees the face of his visitor, he only hopes that it _isn’t_.

“Dad. We have _got_ to stop meeting like this already,” he snarls; it should have been clear to everyone in Cruxis by now that he was not interested in returning to them. After all, what other reason did Kratos have to seek him out like this?

“You can calm yourself, Lloyd.” He draws the hood of his cape to his shoulders, revealing the seraphim’s signature copper hair. “I did not come to fight you, nor did I come out of malice.”

This was certainly unusual, to say the _least,_ because that left the seraphim’s intentions nothing short of a mystery. 

“Then why are you here?” Lloyd asks, and considering all the confusion running circles through his mind, there is no better question at this point.

 _‘Hmph.’_ “Because I know what you’re trying to do. I stand by Mithos and his organization, but you are my son, and I raised you alone.” He draws his hand from his pocket, and a small ornament Lloyd can’t identify in the darkness is placed in his gloved hand, still damp from the snowflakes that melted in his palm. Kratos then folds it gently into a fist, and each of Lloyd’s fingers curl around whatever it was his father had just gifted him. For mere moments, he sees it sparkle as it makes its way into the palm of his hand, but no other clues tell him what it could be.

“This is for you or whichever of your companions so choose to use it. Take it, and do what you will. The next time we meet, we will be enemies once more.”

As Kratos begins walking back into the frigid abyss, he tosses a sharp _“Don’t die, Lloyd”_ over his shoulder until his silhouette disappears into the darkness.

“Hmph, you say that, but then the next time you see me, you’re gonna try and kill me.” Lloyd snarls, despite Kratos being greatly out of earshot. Glancing down at his closed fist, he begins unraveling his fingers to find a simple ring with a ruby-red gem tracing the folds of his glove.

“What is this? A ring?” he asks himself, surrounded by only the gentle touch of snowflakes and the night sky. “Why is he helping us?”

He barges back into the inn, and even a cursory glance indicates that something is _wrong._

“Lloyd, are you okay!? What happened!?” Zelos barks, rushing to his side with harsh, frantic haste.

“I’m okay, I guess, but…” He reaches to his pocket, retrieving Kratos’ ring. “My Dad just came to visit me, and he gave me this.”

Raine snatches the tiny sphere from his hands, examining it with the kind of scrutiny only a true researcher could provide.

“I’m not familiar with Cruxis’ relics, but this could only be the Ring of the Pact. Nothing else makes sense.”

“Yeah, and it also doesn’t make sense why he’d actually _help_ us,” Zelos says with a snarl he always adopts at the mere _mention_ of Kratos. “Even if he’s going to be doing stuff like this, we gotta keep an eye on ‘em. Kratos really is a weird guy.”

A deep sigh escapes Lloyd’s lips. “I think at this point, Cruxis was using me to hold him hostage, and now he doesn’t know if he wants to side with us or them.”

“What does that mean?” Even Zelos is confused by this shred of wisdom.

“I mean, as long as I was part of Cruxis, he couldn’t leave. Now that we’re all here together trying to save the world, my Dad is probably torn between what I want and whatever loyalty he has to Mithos.”

Raine holds the ring up to the light, which illuminates carved scripts of languages even she had never seen before.

“One thing is certain, and that is that we cannot trust him.” At least, they could trust Kratos no more than they could trust an enemy’s knife at their throats-- which, maybe, even after all this, was still the case to begin with.

//

Somehow, to Zelos, being surrounded by nothing but snow and ice was like reliving all his worst memories in an endless loop. _Going home_ , perhaps, into the ice castle he grew up in, frigid as the very snow that stretched to the ends of his vision.

Prior to his father’s death, he had some, albeit _few_ pleasant memories of his mother, stemming from the few times she would give in and choose to be a parent rather than a living ghost. The rest of the time, his home was nothing more than a frozen palace long before his Mother’s body was strewn over the snow. Cold, frost-bound and cruel, the manor was as devoid of warmth and love as it could possibly have been-- just as Zelos felt at this very moment, as he trudged through the snow on his way to the Temple of Ice.

“Hey, Zelos, talk to me. You don’t look okay.”

The redhead glances to his right to see Lloyd at his side-- someone who cared about him far too much for all he was worth.

“Heh. I hate snow, I hate ice, and I hate the cold. Would be nice if we could just fly through this temple too.”

“Why’s that?” Lloyd asks with concern trailing on his breath, heating the frigid air with every exhale. It was only a matter of time before Zelos had to speak to him of his greatest traumas, and somehow, he did not feel the overwhelming amount of _dread_ at that idea he expected.

Instead, Zelos’ eyes darted every which way, looking for something to rest on that didn’t make his heart sink, until they found home in Lloyd’s eyes. “Because the last time I saw snow, it was covered in my Mother’s blood.”

A frown of sadness and empathy overflows from Lloyd’s now-sombre expression, before he grabs Zelos’ hand and holds it firmly in his own.

“I know it’ll be hard, but we can do it.” He squeezes the other boy’s hand, their fingers interlocked. “Together.”

//

The Temple of Ice did not have Zelos feeling bored, much unlike the other seals. Instead, it made him feel bleak, desolate, and _melancholic_ in ways he had hardly felt before, save for the deaths of his parents and every time he felt the grip of snow against his tender flesh. The torrential, frigid snowfall, the frost that pricks his skin like slender needles, and everywhere he goes, he _swears_ he sees the stain of red strewn across the snow until he looks away, and suddenly, it’s gone.

 _‘Imagine if I’d done this before I knew all about Cruxis’ twisted plans. Might as well’a made me a martyr,’_ he ponders, kicking a block of ice out of his way as they traverse the temple.

“Zelos, you okay?” Lloyd appears genuinely concerned; not only is Zelos brooding in silence as he was before, but now he’s jumpy, on-edge, and so, _so_ visibly _not okay_ . Frankly, there was no reason _not_ to be concerned as he watched the redhead’s vision dart from side-to-side.

“I’ll be fine,” he says as he tries to no avail to rid the smell of blood from his nostrils. There was none in the same way there was no reason to lie, but the phantoms of his past certainly did like to play tricks unlike any other.

“Well, we’re almost done now... I think.” Truth be told, Lloyd had _no idea_ , but that certainly didn’t stop him from trying to be encouraging, linking his arm with Zelos’ for a small, subtle sense of comfort. It did not protect him from the flashbacks and torment that racked his mind, but at the very least, it calmed the feeling in his chest that made him want to scream.

“Well, this does look like the seal room here.” The door slides open, and sure enough, the altar stands tall, waiting in repose for the one who would save the world.

Sheena steps forward, cards gripped between her quick fingers. “Okay. Let’s make the pact, guys.”

Celsius and her fenrir proved to be formidable fighters, and of all the summon spirits they had fought so far, this fight certainly pushed Zelos closest to his limits as he shifted between the frontlines, casting what little fire spells he knew, and battling the demons that racked his mind. Without Genis’ arcane artes to guide them to victory, Zelos had been left to fill two roles at once, all the while, trying as hard as he could not to overexert himself-- that was proving more difficult than usual with not one enemy to fight, but two. _Three,_ if you count the memories that ruminate like no other.

This time, after a feverish battle of fire and ice, Lloyd is the one to deal the final blow, leaving the spirit to pick herself off the floor and bestow her powers upon the group of gentle idealists.

Sheena turns to her companions, allowing a moment as brisk as the winter air for everyone to recompose. “So, we’ve got the pacts formed with the summon spirits of both worlds… does this mean Origin is all that’s left?”

Sheathing his sword once more, Zelos is already aggravated enough; the last thing he needs is for them to dawdle. “Alright, if we’re done, how about we move it along then, folks?”

Zelos’ pupils flurry between the faces of his companions with haste, until the room vibrates with a voice that only made him feel sicker, as if that were possible at all.

_“Not if I can help it.”_

An instantaneous flash of light blinds the entire room, less than it took for them to bat an eye; beyond the altar stood Mithos Yggdrasill, and next to him, their former companion, Genis Sage, armed with a magitech blade and crystalline wings. This sight alone was one that could only have existed in all their worst fears, but now, Mithos and Genis stand in front of them, ready for bloodshed and to turn the white snow nothing less than crimson _red._

 _“Genis!”_ Raine cries, and she lunges in his direction with no goal in mind. All she wanted was to bring him back, to save him from whatever ill intentions Cruxis had-- in her mind, there _had to be a way_. After all, he was her brother, and she nearly raised him; there was no way he could choose to say no to the only family he had left, until suddenly, he did.

The silver-haired boy’s heart sinks; seeing his former friends like this was harder than he thought it would be, but his look of determination and pride never falters. The moment he said that fragile _‘yes’_ to the boy who stood at his side, he knew it would come to this eventually. “I already told you, Raine. We’re enemies now.”

“But we don’t have to be. You can come back with us, and we can make the world a--”

“No need for that. Genis is my right hand now, is that not correct?” Mithos wraps his fingers around the other boy’s hand, raising it to the sky as a sign of their unholy dedication. “Now, we are here because the chosen has yet to release the final seal, and here we are, in the seal room. It would be wise if you listened to us instead of running any further.”

Zelos glares at the blonde youth before him; even the _sight_ of Mithos makes him feel ill. “Buddy, I’m not in the mood for this.”

The half-elves step down from the altar, and Mithos takes hold of Zelos’ arm with great force. This time, he feels like a quick drop in circulation, and he’s rushing to swing with his free arm to unbind himself-- something that proved far more difficult than it must have looked, as if an insect in an ever-closing trap.

 _“Zelos!”_ All four of his companions rush toward the overlord, but each one is brought to a grinding halt by the jolting shock of a lightning spell that thundered through the room, igniting every corner of the seal. A steady dose of paralysis stopped anyone and everyone from doing a _single thing_ about Zelos’ predicament, leaving all five party members nothing short of helpless.

“Good work, Genis,” Mithos states as the rest of the party are frozen in place, unable to move, much less to _help_. Instead, he drags Zelos’ arm to the altar, and once it is set firmly in place, the room begins to ignite with a brilliant light once more.

“Hey! Mithos! Fuck you, man! _Fuck you!_ ” Zelos’ voice breaks as he shouts to no avail. There was nothing he could do, no way for him to fight back-- he was simply doomed. A butterfly pinned by its golden wings, frozen in place and nothing more.

“This time, you’re lucky. _I’m_ the one to bestow the seal upon you. And now, all we have to do is get rid of that _Key crest--_ ”

“No!” Lloyd’s sheer, scorching rage has created an antidote for Genis’ spell, if there ever was one; his hands quake, his face burns, his heart burns, his throat burns-- and as he charges toward Mithos with both blades in his hands, the last thing he sees is Mithos’ sly, half-sided smile and a spear of light pointed at his stomach.

_“Lloyd!?”_

All the blood rushes from Zelos body, but right now, it’s not his blood in the snow. Lloyd’s chest is pressed between his arms with an unspeakable wound, and right now, he can’t tell if he’s twenty-two or if he’s twelve years old all over again. Pulsating, his vision darts around the room, and he can’t move, _he can’t move--_

_You should never have been born._

For a split second, Lloyd's face looks exactly like his mother's. 

Is there blood on his hands right now? He can’t tell, because he’s caught between past and present as he holds the only person he’s ever loved in his arms, bleeding all over both of them and into the pale snow.

Most of all, Zelos’ hand rushes to his chest upon the violent revelation that Mithos clutched his newfound Key crest between his slender fingers with a grin filled to the brim with _poison_.

“Remember what I told you, Zelos. Love will be your demise. Now, I have something you want, and you have something I want. You know where to meet us. I believe we best be going.” And with that, the half-elves are gone, but tonight, that’s the _least_ of their worries, because Lloyd hasn’t opened his eyes, and whatever the _hell_ Zelos had finally repressed of the angelic transformation was coming back full force. Both were _bad_ , but the combination was nothing short of crafted only of Zelos’ _nightmares_.

Sunset wings spread from his back, and he had always remembered the angel transformation as slow, agonizing, and brutally painful, but this time, each sensation rippled throughout his body faster than he could blink. The nausea, the migraines, the coil of emptiness in his chest that spread through his body like a plague each hit him as a triple threat, forever a force to be reckoned with, and right now, he couldn’t even begin to imagine fighting all the overwhelming feelings swirling within his body. 

This time, however, his chest burns like a thousand suns trapped within his body, and it creeps up his esophagus until it stops in the _base of his throat_ . The moment Mithos snatched the Key crest from his chest, it was as if someone had reached into his neck and pulled something out, too-- something he didn't even know he had. He breathes in, and nothing comes out but a faint gasp that he can hardly feel at all, but there was no time to even think about that, because _Lloyd, Lloyd, Lloyd--_

“Bring him over here, Zelos. I’ll cast, and then you’ll cast too!” Raine cries, and as they use their magic in unison, Sheena and Regal pull out any item they can that might help-- gels, life bottles, _anything_.

Zelos keels over, the feelings of fire and ice and _nothing at all_ synthesized in perfect harmony, as if perfect harmony were a malicious pandemic that threatened his very life. As he opens his mouth to scream _‘fuck you, you little bastard, go to hell, I’ll fucking kill you’_ and as many other obscenities as he could imagine at the angel who damned him to hell, nothing comes out instead-- at least, nothing but a sharp and painful gasp that felt like choking on air.

Lloyd’s eyes flutter open at last, but walking, much less anything else, is certainly out of the question at this point. _“What happened…?”_ he whispers, and Zelos can’t tell if the blood that drips from his mouth is actually there or if it only belongs to Mylene, but the smell is more than real, and it engulfs all of his senses. Here he is, covered in someone’s blood all over again with the snow stained red.

Once again, it’s all his fault, and no-one else’s.

“We must find somewhere to rest. If we return to Altamira, I can still get us rooms for free,” Regal says, and even his normally emotionless voice quickens with urgency.

“Lloyd, you’re going to be okay,” Raine speaks softly, her staff pulsating with mana as he begins regaining consciousness.

Zelos is speechless. Everywhere he looks, he sees the colour red, and he doesn’t even know what’s real and what’s another one of those gruesome flashbacks of death and demise that haunt his dreams. He had experienced the sheer feeling of wanting to scream while nothing dared come out many times in his life; the stifling feeling of being silenced, having to drown your feelings in shallow water as if a witch under trial. As it turns out, truly having to scream and not being able to _at all_ is a completely different set of feelings in every single way.

_Not everything feels like something else._

“Zelos!” Sheena cries, shaking his shoulder gently enough to knock him from his trance. “He’s gonna be okay, we’re gonna get him to Altamira, we’re gonna heal him, we’re gonna do it, just say something, _please!”_

The transformation wasn’t like this last time. Now, it was _loud_ , it was _overwhelming_ , his eyes and ears every single sense were burning like the cruellest flames, and beyond all else, a feeling such as this could have made even the most faithful chosen want to drop dead-- but in this very moment, his throat _burns_ , because _nothing will come out_.

 _‘I can’t’_ , he mouths while shaking his head back and forth. Sheena’s eyes grow wide upon realizing exactly what Mithos has done.

“He took your key crest!?” Zelos nods, gritting his teeth, gripping Lloyd tighter as if he’d never let go. Maybe he wouldn’t.

And who was flame-spitting, silver-tongued Zelos Wilder without his voice?

As it turns out, as he gestures to his friends in stifled silence, he was nothing at all.

//

Altamira had a completely different aura upon arriving with such urgency. Normally, Zelos came to enjoy the rides, the casinos, and all the beautiful women, but all those things couldn’t possibly be any further from his mind. All he could think was _Lloyd, Lloyd, Lloyd,_ even more-so than usual, and within a completely different context this time. For now, he _very nearly_ didn’t mind the fact that he couldn’t speak, because he had nothing to say, and if anything, it saved him for saying the wrong things over and over again. Beyond that, the newly reset angel transformation stopped him from _crying,_ which could be a good or terrible thing depending on the mask of the moment. But right now, there was nothing, because _he was nothing_.

By now, Raine had Lloyd’s wounds fully wrapped, bandaged, and sealed, but even the thought that the humanity he worked so hard to regain was now lost, stolen inside a Key crest gripped in the hands of his very enemy, paled in comparison to the knowledge that someone he loved nearly died for him in vain.

Regal had rented everyone rooms of their own on this visit, but he should have known that wouldn’t do for Zelos. Instead, he hangs his head low and ascends the elevator to the top floor, because if he didn’t see Lloyd now, he knew that sleep would be near impossible.

_Knock-knock-knock._

“Hey, come in,” Lloyd’s raspy voice rings through the door, and Zelos had never been happier to hear it, even if wrought with pain.

Zelos sits on the end of the bed, clutching sheets and blankets within his hands as sensation after sensation is torn from his body. He could still feel his arms, his face, and perhaps the tiniest coil in his chest, and all he wanted was to wrap those arms around Lloyd once more before he never could again.

The brunette rolls over, clutching his bandages with his free hand. “Zelos, say something, okay?”

He crosses his legs and digs sharp fingernails into his exposed palms. A grimace is splayed across his face like a body in the snow until his nails dig so far they draw blood amongst the white sheets he gripped in his hands. _How fitting._

None of it changes anything. Here he is, a hollow shell of a person once more, rendered mute to the one he loves who nearly lost his life for him.

“Hey, what’s wrong? You can talk to me.”

Zelos shakes his head, running the tips of his fingers along the Cruxis crystal in his chest-- a tiny beast of a gem, now with no Key crest to contain it. One that would surely take his life, if Mithos didn’t first.

Lloyd’s eyes grow wide as he sits up. “He took your Key crest!?”

A nod. There wasn’t much he could do to respond anyway. Nod for yes. Shake for no. Stay trapped inside his own head for the rest.

Lloyd reaches to his pocket, retrieving the simple, folded note Zelos had given him the night they spent together in the woods. A single piece of paper, worn and weathered now, with his favourite poem scrawled in messy lettering.

“I know you have a notepad. Let’s talk like that, okay?”

 _‘Can I sit next to you?’_ he scrawls, to which Lloyd beckons with open arms; all Zelos wanted was to feel his skin while he still could. Surely, he didn’t have much longer now as the emptiness crawled through his veins; by now, he was less _‘half-human’_ and more _‘half-dead’_.

_‘I blame myself for this.’_

“Absolutely not.” Lloyd shakes his head, grimacing between words. “I blocked Mithos to save you from becoming a sacrifice, and I’d do it again if I had to.”

 _‘And he still took my Key crest.’_ An hour ago, he would have been fighting back tears. Now, he was too far along the transformation to even think about something like crying. 

_‘I’ve wanted to run away from myself because things like this happen because of me. People like me don’t get happy endings.’_

“I don’t believe that.” Lloyd’s shaking his head with as much strength as he can manage, which is albeit _not much_ in his current, fragile state. “Once this over, we’re going to make one together. I promise. You won’t be the chosen anymore, you’ll be able to eat, sleep, speak, and feel, and you won’t have to run anymore. We’ll do it together.”

Zelos rests his head against Lloyd’s shoulder; small comforts during times like this were necessary, otherwise the same stomach that could no longer digest food would turn inside out and devour him whole.

 _‘I have to say something to you, Lloyd.’_ he scrawls in his tiny book while soft whimpers leave his quivering mouth in place of diction or dialect. The brunette appears taken aback by Zelos’ quick, firm sentence, but all he can do is wait for him to continue.

_‘You’re the only one who’s ever wanted me for me, and not because I’m the chosen or because you wanted something in return._

_You’re the only one who I can show this side of me to._

_When I saw you like that after Mithos hurt you, I felt something I’ve never felt before, and it made me realize I don’t want to live without you.’_

Lloyd grips Zelos’ hand, intertwining their fingers in perfect synthesis. They coalesce together in all the right ways, like complementary colours-- and nothing in Zelos’ life has ever been more fitting: opposites who create the most beautiful harmonies.

“Zelos, I--”

Zelos stops him, placing his finger gently over Lloyd’s lips, and the pen gripped in his other hand flows against the paper delicately, considering his ever-trembling hands.

_‘I’m in love with you, Lloyd.’_

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. This wasn’t how he wanted to tell him. He wanted it to roll off his tongue and be spoken in his own words, in his own voice, something tangible that came entirely from him. Alas, here he is, with _no voice_ , clutching pen and paper to tell the boy he loves how he really feels. He had never been more ready to speak the words _‘I love you’_ into existence, and now his throat only burns.

Oh, how the mighty fall.

Still, somehow, it was _enough._ “Zelos, I’m in love with you too,” Lloyd speaks, and maybe tonight, his voice alone could be enough for the two of them together.

It is unclear who kisses who first, but within minutes, their bodies are intertwined in ways they never had been before. Zelos has enough sensation left in his body now that he feels the graze of their lips like the flutter of butterfly wings, gentle and delicate, as he ignores the knowledge that tomorrow, the butterflies will have their wings torn by the tyrant who tore the world in two.

Normally, his mind would wander to unsavoury places, asking why they wouldn’t just tear off _his_ wings and leave him to die-- but right here, in this moment, the only thing that mattered was that he was here with Lloyd, that they loved each other, and that he could still feel _enough_ that all of this _mattered_.

Love wasn’t enough to save him, but it was enough to get him through the feeble hours between now and the Tower. Tomorrow, he would be doomed, but tonight, he would be loved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Commentary: brags, regrets, trivia.](https://twitter.com/flambydelrabies/status/1296132902607114240)


	10. Collapse Into Now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very large warning for emetophobia and violence/blood in this chapter. But hey, it's the end, you made it!

_“I’ll do the startling thing_  
_I’ll have the knife in my teeth_  
_I’ll be the star_  
_You can be the horrified one.”_

_\- Alicia Ostriker_

//

The Tower of Salvation stretched as far as the eye can see, and at the very top sat the leader of the world upon his crown of thorns and deceit. The only difference between now and this methodical scene four thousand years ago was that in this moment, Mithos Yggdrasill stood hand-in-hand with the only person whose trust and faith in him was truly unwavering. Perhaps such unshakable trust in such a wicked ruler was foolish-- or, in the same vein, it could be exactly what Mithos needed to thaw his frigid heart.

“Genis,” Mithos spoke with a gentleness that only Martel knew. “Everything you see-- everything that’s mine is yours, too.”

The silver-haired boy’s fingers grip those of the other half-elf only tighter. “Nobody has ever been so kind to me, Mithos.”

“Well, is this everything you’d ever wanted?” Mithos asks, glancing at the soft smile on the boy's face and noting it was sterilized of hatred or spite.

Genis turns to look him in the eyes, and the comfort ringing in his voice was only comparable to Martel’s lullabies to Mithos’ jaded ears. “Yeah, everything I’ve wanted and more.”

The two boys face each other, their hands interlocked and never once closer. “Promise to stay with me forever, then?”

A frail hand brushes the blonde strands from Mithos’ eyes before Genis rests it faintly at his side once more.

“Yeah, and always.”

Mithos leans in and gives the younger boy a quick peck on the lips-- enough to melt even his frigid heart, if he had one

Perhaps he did, after all.

//

Waking up next to Lloyd was a familiar comfort that warmed Zelos’ soul as he dragged the tips of his fingers gently along the other man’s cheek, just the way he’d always wanted. The only difference is that now, it wasn’t a fever dream or lost feeling of longing in the pit of his stomach-- it was _real_ and they were here, _together_ , and it was _tangible_ , and--

The night before had been perfection in every way it could have been, and as sunbeams danced across his skin, Zelos never wanted any of this to end. A silent laugh escapes his mouth as he moves to plant his lips upon those of the other boy, a peck long enough to say _‘I love you’,_ even if doing so was nothing short of impossible-- words he no longer found himself afraid of, for the first time in his life.

“You remember much about last night, Zelos?”

The chosen opens his mouth to laugh, only to feel a surge of panic upon realizing that he can’t anymore. As Lloyd lifts himself up, the clear view of the bloodied bandages that twist around his stomach send a jolt of frigid fear through Zelos’ veins, and the reality of everything aside from their ten hours in a universe all on their own begins to sink back in.

Once again, he was a _meat-suit_ who couldn’t even speak, and now Lloyd was injured beyond words. One night in heaven certainly was enough to distract from being stuck in hell.

 _‘Are you still hurt?’_ Zelos mouths, and he can only hope that Lloyd was as good at reading lips as he had been kissing them the night before. Much to his dismay, Lloyd only stares back with a face as blank as the paper Zelos begins scrawling on.

_‘Are you still hurt?’_

“I think i’m okay now,” Lloyd grunts upon placing both feet firmly on the ground. His newly damp bandages say otherwise.

Zelos is rushing to his side now, as if he weren’t already; _‘Raine’,_ he mouths, and Lloyd seemed to catch that one just fine.

Lloyd’s voice is sheepish, letting some vague, silly form of embarrassment show in his face, albeit briefly. “Pretty sure I can walk on my own, Zelos,” he says, a half-smile apparent against his otherwise pained grin.

Their bodies move in unison, allowing Zelos to bring his partner directly to the only person whose healing spells could get him walking, talking, living, and breathing up to par for the sheer magnitude of the tasks the lie ahead. Each footstep echoed in his ears, and the strength of his senses made his eyes burn to the point he opted to shut them whenever possible.

“Lloyd, you’re awake,” Raine speaks with haste as she dashes to take him from Zelos’ grasp, slender staff gripped tightly in her hands. When she finishes leading him to the bed in the corner of the room, the least she can do is change his blood-stained bandages.

A First Aid spell ignites the room, and the removal of the gauze and adhesive showed that his wound had mended in stark contrast to the grisly sight from the day prior. 

“You’ll likely not be able to fight for the foreseeable future, but at the very least, you shouldn’t have much more trouble walking. Do refrain, however, from sudden movements if you can.” She articulates each word between her steady hands disinfecting every inch of his tender wound; had there been an opportunity and sterilized tools available, Raine would have opted for stitches to keep the wound closed, but in some series of dumb luck, it appeared to be closing just fine on its own. Perhaps, sometimes, the brave ones are lucky after all.

“With proper care, you should heal just fine.”

Zelos’ heart is burning with passion, regret, and far more eternally compounding emotions than even those two combined-- in this moment, he would speak if he could, and he soon discovers out of all the humiliation he has experienced at the hands of Cruxis and the journey, losing his voice was by far the most brutal degradation he had _ever_ experienced.

Charades clearly doesn’t work, and as he breathes out a sharp exhale, Zelos reaches for his notepad once more.

_‘I don’t want you to come with us to release Origin today.’_

“No. I’m going.” Lloyd stands, fists balled at his sides with the same determination he felt the day he left Cruxis and the rest of his life behind in tow. “If I have to sit the fighting out, I will. But I won’t miss this.”

Raine shoots a glance at the brunette, then to the chosen himself. “I believe that Lloyd is correct. He may be wounded, but we have no reason to stop him from joining us.” She stands, battle staff still ever firmly grasped. “Now, I believe we should be going.”

Lloyd was likely a more capable fighter in his wounded state than Zelos was without a voice to begin with-- something the chosen was easily ready to disregard if it meant protecting Lloyd further.

With his fingers grasped tightly around Lloyd’s, all Zelos can think is that returning to the cruel reality surrounding them was going to be harder than he could ever have imagined-- but with the boy he loved by his side, the sky was clearer, flowers bloomed, and even a decaying world could be beautiful.

Maybe, once the worlds were combined, both worlds could truly be as beautiful as he saw them with Lloyd’s hand wrapped around his. Even if he couldn’t feel it, simply knowing was enough.

//

Zelos _detested_ Kratos, and he could only guess that Kratos hated him in return. There was nothing for either one of them to like about the other, after all-- one was an _idiotic_ rebel who ran from his destiny and thought he could _somehow_ change the world, the other a shell of an already washed-up hero without a single free thought in his mind. When speaking of two enemies, they were a match made in heaven, hell, or simply somewhere in between.

Most of all, as the five heroes approached Heimdall, all they could see was the iron-eyed seraphim staring back at them, and Zelos couldn’t have been more vexed by that lifeless, barren, yet still _shit-eating_ expression on his face.

“Considering you stand before me, it seems you have made the decision to wield the Eternal Sword after all,” he speaks, allowing ample pause to witness the distaste splayed across the faces of Lloyd and his friends.

Lloyd grunts, clutching his bandages speckled with only hints of blood now, as opposed to the viscera that oozed prior. “What exactly are you planning to do, Dad!?”

The seraphim steps forward, his hardened expression of stone ever unchanging. “Everything that must be done has already been laid out before you.” With those few words announced, he walks away with little more than a passing glance. “Once the pact has been made, we meet again at the Tower of Salvation.”

Nobody chooses to stop him from pacing into the distance; there would be no point to such a foolish action anyways. Regardless of his intentions, Kratos was clearly acting freely now, quite possibly for the first time in a millennia. With the aims twisting through his mind so futilely unclear, all that the five companions could do was listen and swallow every word deeper accompanied with a grain of salt (or, perhaps a _spoonful_ ).

Zelos glares at the older man, who had passed so far into the distance that such a gesture did not phase him-- not that it _would have_ to begin with. He shakes his head in all his frustration; _‘And they call_ me _cryptic’_ blazes through his head, but considering the effort it takes to write down every thought that crosses his mind, and _Goddess forbid_ , having to get someone else to read each one out loud, by now, it was much easier for Zelos to just accept the silence. How unlike him.

Regal clenches his fists at his sides; every visit with Kratos is filled with a tension so taut, it could be sliced through with nothing more than a blunted pocket-knife. “We should carry on. We must make the pact and continue to the Tower of Salvation.”

Returning to Heimdall left Raine with a sense of dread resonating through her already-strained nervous system; beyond that, there was nothing less than the feeling of a constant knife resting at her throat from every angle with each breath she took. As Raine glanced between houses, villagers, and the trees that encapsulated the hidden city of elves, one thing alone had become clear as crystalline waters, and that was that _nothing had changed but her_ since the siblings were cast from the village.

She thinks of her mother who had long since lost her mind; a cursory glance at all the houses that looked exactly the same left Raine curious about the possibility of seeing her once more, even if the thought only crossed her mind for the flutter of an eye. 

_‘What good would that do me?’_ she dismisses herself moments after the thought comes and goes. _‘She wouldn’t even recognize me now. There would be no use.’_

Still, all those same puny sorrows wax and wane throughout her mind, wondering what she did to deserve such a cruel fate, and stopping only once her eyes meet the village Elder’s at the edge of the forest, who opens his mouth and speaks bigotry they could only have expected.

“You should know by now that half-elves are not permitted within our city limits.”

Zelos shakes his head in frustration; all he can do with a proverbial muzzle over his lips. Lloyd speaks in his stead, reading the tension radiating from the boy beside him like a book filled only with familiar words: “She’s with us, and if we’re going to make the pact with Origin, then she’s going to come too.” 

Raine’s eyes turn to slits, and her energy vibrates with absolute malediction as her energy turns lustrous red. Even her mere gaze could burn holes through anyone in sight, and as she turned her vision to the Elder, Zelos was shocked he ceased to be lit ablaze.

“Seven years ago, you threw me and my brother out of this city without a shred of remorse. As a result, we have faced endless persecution, even so far as to spend the rest of our lives _running_ because of what _you_ call our _cursed blood.”_

“Half-elves are not welcome at the fault of those who changed the course of the world,” the Elder draws out each word, yet refuses to allow even a fragment of emotion into his voice aside from pure _disdain._

“Mithos, the hero,” Sheena speaks, blunt and with copious amounts of silent aggression. “He’s the reason why, isn’t he?”

 _No response at all_ was the surest, most finite response they could have received. 

“Well, we’re here to form a pact with Origin and take Mithos down for good, so do you think you could ease up on the discrimination, at least so we can get this pact finished?” Sheena says with eyelids drooped and arms folded sternly against her chest; even her voice crackles with resentment in Raine’s defense.

“If you are here to challenge Mithos Yggdrasill’s cruel ways, then I will _reluctantly_ allow your half-elf companion entry until your goal is complete.” The Elder turns to allow the group of five to pass through to the forest, and it seemed unusual how easy it appeared to be to convince him of such, until they heard the clause that trailed along his heels.

“I bid you well, as this world cries for an idealist who will not turn their back like the fallen hero once did.”

 _‘C’mon, guys, let’s go,’_ Zelos walks toward the forest, beckoning his companions to join in his wake.

Raine gives a quick, razor-sharp glance at the Elder once more, and she tries to hide the tremors in her fists that vibrate with anxiety and _rage_ . Despite her best efforts and strongest older-sister-turned-mother face, she _can’t_.

//

“Origin!” Sheena’s voice booms, far more confident-- _fearless_ , even, than ever before. “In order to restore these twisted worlds to their original form, I _demand_ that you form a pact with me!”

The same way Zelos was hardly a shell of the mocking, factitious and terribly _empty_ person he once was, and how Lloyd had grown from another soldier of Cruxis into the gentle idealist bound to save the world, when the redhead thinks back to Sheena’s first few pacts with the earliest of the summon spirits, all he can sees is a master in place of an apprentice.

 _“Then you must fight,”_ Origin’s voice booms, just as one would expect. Somehow, this pact was different, for the sole reason the fate of the world hinged upon it in a way a pact never had before. The pressure was rising, the same way the deafening buildup of mana in the earliest seals threatened to send them to their demise through crushing asphyxiation. By now, everyone had come so far, but not far _enough_.

 _‘Lloyd,’_ Zelos mouths, and he feels all the more pathetic with each word that ceases to escape his lips. Moments later, he grabs Lloyd’s hand and begins to draw his fingers into silent letters along his palm.

_‘SIT THIS OUT. I’M SERIOUS.’_

A quick nod, then a squeeze of Zelos’ hand, and Lloyd retreats to the sidelines. It was the least he could do, considering the circumstances. “I trust you, Zelos. Don’t ever forget that.” And he never did, not _once,_ and not _ever._

Origin’s attacks were devastating, but everyone quickly became even _more_ thankful to have Raine by their side, as her healing artes proved invaluable at every turn. Each Thunder Arrow or Flame Lance brought the unfortunate soul caught directly in it to their knees; opposing this, every Hurricane Thrust or Demon Spear seemed to make Zelos feel like he was taking steps _backward_ rather than forward. Perhaps that was his growing exhaustion with _find the seal fight the spirit make the pact_ , but even more than that, he knew most of his anxieties stemmed from his eyes continuously lingering on Lloyd, who sat at the sidelines out of range of the battle.

 _‘Nothing to worry about,’_ he thought, until he saw Origin gradually begin to drift in the direction of their wounded comrade.

Zelos grits his teeth in sheer wrath, ready for his blade to screech through the air in his voice’s stead, and he runs as fast as his legs will carry him-- from the other side of the battlefield, it was hardly fast enough to matter.

Lloyd dials himself backwards, hand resting on the hilt of his blade and ready to fight if he must. At this point, there was no way he could, leading Zelos’s mind to shoot waves of panic throughout his entire nervous system until they find a home directly in his _fists._

 _‘You bastard, I’ll kill you,’_ is exactly what Zelos _would have_ screamed in a blind rage, raising his sword to strike down the summon spirit until a sharp, piercing _squelch_ radiates throughout the entire field.

The redhead stopped in his tracks, eyes widened in frigid shock, because as the summon spirit fell to the ground, _none_ of this was his doing this time.

Instead, Raine stands with her staff gripped tightly as could be, and she slowly pulls the sharpened end out of Origin’s chest-- certainly a gruesome fatality, if summon spirits weren’t lucky enough to be immortal.

“Lloyd,” Raine says with a sigh. “You know you shouldn’t be fighting right now.” She says nothing more, and with the fire in her eyes, that’s all she _needs_ to say. No-one _dares_ speak of it further.

“Origin, Summon Spirit of Birth, Life, and everything in between,” Sheena calls, “I ask that thy establish a pact with me!”

The spirit nods, and it only takes moments for his gaping wound to close as if it had never existed at all.

“I shall lend you my power, should you use it to restore this world to its original state.”

Light illuminates the forest, making their most pressing objective complete. The thought of what comes next, however, generates pointed shivers that feel like nothing short of broken glass dragging down each of their spines.

“Our next destination is the Tower of Salvation, then.” Regal is just as apprehensive as the rest of his companions at this very moment; right now, he can’t pretend to be the pillar of strength among his companions in their flighty youth, because when he thinks of their impending destination, he feels the same spinning nausea in the pit of his stomach that they do.

“Yeah,” Lloyd says as Zelos helps him to his feet. “Welgaia, City of Angels. I know the way, and I know the city like the back of my hand. Kratos, Mithos, Genis-- they should all be waiting there for us.”

“Then let’s go,” Sheena says, and with each step they take, their stomachs never stop dropping.

//

The Tower of Salvation is equal parts gruesome and beautiful as Zelos stands before the stone obelisk and watches all its might stretch to the heavens. Something so grand could only be described as _magnificent,_ but the knowledge of the true evil that lies within clouded any sort of marvel he could possibly feel. Not everything that could be called beautiful on the outside could be spoken the same of from within-- something he always thought about himself in all the worst ways. He thinks of the day he ran away and his wings sparkled across the water like magic-- _‘In any other circumstance,’_ until he laughs under his breath, ‘ _it really_ would _be beautiful, wouldn’t it?’_

He doesn’t know anymore, and it is of little consequence to begin with. They were here to save the world and leave, if that were possible at all and they were not simply kidding themselves into delirium.

“How do we get in, Lloyd?” is the question burning heavy through everyone’s anxious minds. Each of his companions turns to look Lloyd in the eyes without falter.

“Well, generally, you need some kind of Cruxis crystal to get in, but since I never had one, my exsphere usually worked just fine on the platform,” he says, running a hand through his scruffy hair. He speaks the truth, but he was still considered relatively low-ranking within his time with Cruxis; there were still _many_ things he had yet to learn.

Lloyd walks up to the platform with the ominous embossing of a handprint sitting deeply within it, thinking to himself _‘Well, here goes nothing,’_ before placing his open palm directly in the bevel.

Three swift beeps, and it flashes a neon shade of red.

“Well… that always worked before.” The first option was clearly out of the question now. “They must have disabled my exsphere after I ran away.”

Raine sighs, and hesitation escapes her lips. “I suppose that would only make sense, considering the circumstances of your betrayal.”

Zelos raises an arm, cutting through the air like his silver sword. Nobody thought they’d ever _miss_ hearing Zelos’ voice before, but here they were, their imp with a tongue like snakes silenced for all eternity. It wasn’t even bittersweet-- it was just _bitter._

He jaunts to the platform and lowers his hand directly in Lloyd’s place. Far-fetched of an idea, but perhaps Cruxis was still expecting the Chosen of Regeneration to come this way on his journey.

 _Beep. Beep. Beep._

This time, a flash of green, and then glittering white light that grew into opaque stairs leading to the tower.

_‘Guess they were still expecting the chosen after all.’_

Upon reaching the end of the stairs and the end of the world as they knew it, Zelos finds a portal in front of two wide, towering doors; from the way Lloyd’s eyes darted from one to the other, it was clear that the glowing sphere was the one that led directly to the top, and the doors were the long way up. Unfortunately, Lloyd spies a slim, lightweight sword protruding from the portal, leaving the interface cracked and tiny sparks flying from each laceration-- unusable, even at its best. A sharp _‘pang’_ rings through Lloyd’s chest as he recognizes the blade as the one he bought for Genis back in Palmacosta.

Now was not the time for sentimental musings, but that did not stop a void to seep into his heart to mourn the loss of a dear friend.

“Well, this is bad,” Lloyd sighs. In more ways than one, as well. “This is how I always got to the top.”

“So what does this mean, Lloyd?” Everyone looks to him for guidance, and for good reason-- he knew far more of Cruxis than anyone else did, or _could_ , considering the eighteen years he spent as one of their seething hounds.

“Well…” he gestures toward the magitech doors that stood tall, grave and _menacing._ “I’ve never had to take this route before, but… looks like we’re starting from the bottom.”

Zelos’ mouth drops to a frown, and in his book, he draws three pictures: _stairs, tower, ???._

“Yep. Looks like we’re climbing the tower.” Sheena is hardly happier than Zelos at climbing the tower that stretched to the heavens, but with the fate of the world in their hands, complaining would get them nowhere. Today, the party of five heroes set out to accomplish the greatest task they could ever have imagined, and it begins with the chosen’s hand being placed firmly on towering doors, which then swing open with a mechanical _click_.

 _‘Here goes nothing,’_ he mouths, but in his frenzied mind, the words _‘here goes everything’_ ruminate instead.

Despite his earlier, naive perceptions, when Zelos looked at the Tower of Salvation anywhere but from the ground, soaring above the skies before blending into the wilted clouds, there was nothing beautiful about it. Instead, as his gaze darts back and forth between the numb, unfeeling _mannequins_ of bodies floating among the Tower’s foundation, he feels _sick_ to his _very core._ It took less than an academic to realise the bodies belong to former chosen who failed, many sharing his _very same_ red locks of hair, only to end up as unfeeling _vessels_ littered among space and time. In this moment, he feels thankful that he can even experience disgust at all. Small victories, if one could even call them such.

As his companions stare in shock, awe, and _horror,_ Zelos instead turns his vision to the ground.

 _‘Guess we’ve gotta win now, because my only other options are becoming one of those lifeless bodies, or becoming a vessel for Mithos.’_ Both options made him want to vomit, and for good reason-- it was all so twisted that bringing Cruxis to their knees was all he could hope to do.

“That would be as far as you go, Chosen.”

Zelos’ gaze darts upwards to see Kratos staring holes into his chest, directly where his tiny parasite of a crystal lay, leading Zelos’ frown to deepen on sight.

“Are you finally going to tell us what you’re doing, Dad?” Lloyd barks like that of a stray dog returning home for the very first time. This time, Cruxis couldn’t have been any further from home, and his bark perfectly matched his bite.

The seraphim’s eyes never once waver from the party, numb to the cruelty of the bodies floating aimlessly around them in the same way he had become numb to nearly everything else. “My orders are to retrieve the chosen and kill the rest of you.”

“Dad,” Lloyd grunts, clutching his wound. “You don’t have to do this! You can join us!”

“Mithos’ ideals are not absolute,” Raine speaks with fingers gripped around her staff; they were so close to the end now, any chance Kratos could become an ally rather than a foe was one she would willingly take.

Sheena steps forward, allowing herself to speak in tow. “Raine and Lloyd are right. You can help us and make the world a better place.”

A sword is slowly drawn from its sheath, and Kratos holds it toward the party in the most menacing threat of bloodshed the five heroes had seen. There was no clearer indication that he was here for a fight than the tip of a soldier’s blade raised firmly in their direction.

Now Lloyd grips the hilt of his own blade, and within moments, Zelos rushes to his side.

_‘LLOYD. NO.’_

Shaking his head with a spark of fury blazing in his eyes, he snarls the word _“Yes,”_ before gripping Zelos’ left hand and drawing a single sword. “We’re gonna fight together.”

Zelos furrows his brows, sending his partner a glance of confusion before bobbing his head and gripping Lloyd’s hand tighter. He mouths a single word, and that single word was enough.

_‘Together.’_

Without further time for idle pleasantries or dashed hopes, Kratos charges full-force, and each hero raises their weapon in return.

“Chosen,” a quick slash, blocked only by sheer force-- “It is necessary you fulfill your role and join us,” Kratos speaks between the swift blowback from artes flying directly toward him. Thankfully, this time, everyone was aware of what a formidable opponent he was prior to even drawing their weapons.

Zelos swings Lloyd behind him, shielding the boy from his father’s onslaught. “Dad,” Lloyd says through gritted teeth, “I left Cruxis behind, and you can too. I know you’ve been by Mithos’ side for thousands of years, but it doesn’t have to be this way!”

Instead of responding, the seraphim only frowns further and continues his vicious assault.

The blast of a Photon ignites the room, stopping Kratos in his tracks and illuminating the eyes of all the lifeless bodies scattered throughout the air. The sight alone was gruesome, but witnessing all the unsuccessful chosen drift endlessly without a single shred of light in their eyes all the while was all the more _horrifying._ _‘Tower of Salvation’_ couldn’t have been more of a _misnomer._

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Sheena breathes as the ever-agile man dodges another of her nimble seals. Still, even with arms readied with their strongest artes, Kratos showed no signs of giving in against his son and the rest of the idealists who followed.

Zelos grips Lloyd’s hands tighter as they slash their blades in unison. _‘Man, you really want to waste your life on a brat like this!? In four thousand years, how many times has his body-swapping crap worked? Once?’_ At least, that’s what he _would_ have said, if both hands weren’t occupied and his vocals stifled.

“Chosen, move,” Regal shouts before kicking Kratos to the ground from behind with carnal force.

“Have we finally got him?” Lloyd exhales through his teeth. Much as Zelos learned from their previous battle, fighting Kratos was a difficult enough task in itself, but doing so while protecting Lloyd at the same time was even more of an arduous task.

By now, Regal had the seraphim immobilized enough for Sheena to attempt a seal of paralysis with success, leaving Zelos and Lloyd standing mere feet away with their fingers interlocked and each of their free hands pointing a sword at his throat. They had truly brought him to his knees.

Kratos frowns, his eyes cast on the two blades pointed at his trachea and three companions prepared to attack at any sudden movement.

“Well done.”

Lloyd glares, but does not ease the grip on his sabre even for a _fraction_ of a second. After all, their work is far from finished. “I think you owe us an explanation, Dad.”

Zelos jots down a mere three words as fast as his fingers will carry themselves. _‘A few explanations.’_

“Hpmh.” Kratos shuts his eyes. “If you release me from these restraints, I’ll give you the explanation you desire. I give you my word that I will not resist.”

Glancing from Lloyd, to Zelos, and back again, Regal nods and drops the man from his grasp.

“Four thousand years, I have spent by Mithos’ side as an angel of judgement. Four thousand years, following his ideals and thinking that there was no other way.” Kratos pauses, lips pursed.

“Are you saying that you’ve changed your mind about that, then?” Lloyd says back, eyes locked directly with those of his father.

“I changed my mind when I met your mother, only for her to be slaughtered at the hands of Cruxis. I came back because I feared what they would do to you if I chose to run instead.” His eyelids droop until they turn to slits. “My hope was always to leave this twisted organization once and for all, but once Mithos began to indoctrinate you, there was no hope of doing so.”

Zelos is frowning, perhaps even more than usual in the seraphim’s presence. _‘So why were, or_ are (?) _you helping us?’_

“At first I thought your ideals to be foolish, but then you were able to accomplish this much.” The seraphim folds his arms and tilts his head backward in repose. “The further you came to accomplishing this task, the more I began to believe there must be another way for the world to exist, aside from Mithos and his distorted ideals.”

As Raine takes a single stride forward, her step echoes throughout the entire room as if it stretched on for eons. “Then what will you do next, Kratos?”

“If you wish to go any further, you will need a member of the Cruxis high order to accompany you.”

“You planned for this all along, then.” Regal speaks, a certain cunning smugness evident in his voice having deciphered Kratos’ mysterious intentions.

“Even down to the fact that you would beat me in battle this time.”

“Guys, I’d like him to come with us.” There is simply no arguing with the crackle in Lloyd’s voice; instead, everyone nods in agreement, even Zelos himself.

“Guess we’re off to the final battle, then,” Sheena says as they follow Kratos wherever he may lead.

Kratos shakes his head, placing his hand on the incantation on the ground that would surely take them to the next floor.

“No. Next, we climb the tower.”

//

Staircases spiral in all directions, twisting and turning as each floor of the Tower of Salvation ebbs and flows like the two worlds it anchored together. The sheer amount of climbing one stair after the other was guelling and taxed every one of the party’s senses, but with a goal laid heavy on their minds, all each hero could do was keep on walking.

The desolation left ample time for the mind to wander, a pristine moment for pause and reflection in the best and worst ways. In what felt like forever and seconds in unison, all six companions had changed to such a radical degree-- even Kratos, who had found it in himself to abandon Mithos’ ideals once and for all.

“So, everyone, once this is all over, what are you gonna do?” Lloyd asks, so innocent, working under the assumption that they truly _will_ win and save the day once and for all. As much as he wanted to be anything else, Zelos was forever the nihilist; one of the few things that _hadn’t_ changed. Instead, he’d just gotten better at hiding the doubts that flurried his mind. Not that those really mattered, either.

“I suppose I’d like to find a way to make the world a better place for half-elves-- for people like Genis and me,” Raine says as she gazes up into the infinity floating endlessly beyond them. “I hope to bring him back to us and create a future we would both be proud to have played a hand in crafting.”

Zelos chuckles, as much as a breathy series of exhales could be called such. Raine turns to look at the silent chosen, who shakes his fist. Another damn game of charades, until she says “Just use the book, Zelos.”

 _‘You know we’re going to fight him, right?’_ This time, his words are not spun out of nihilism, but so as for Raine not to create some daft future in her head, only to let her down like lead into water.

Raine’s frown could speak entirely for itself. “Unfortunately, I’m both well aware and prepared to do so. I can only hope that he chooses to see beyond Mithos’ manipulation.”

“I’d like to move my people to Sylvarant, and if I can, become a figure of peace between the two worlds,” Sheena says, and her optimism shines in her voice as much as it does in her words. 

A glance is tossed from the half-elf to the summoner. “I didn’t expect you to be one for politics, Sheena.”

She laughs a soft, breathy chuckle. “Well, Mizuho sent me along for the journey of regeneration for a reason, right?”

Regal is next in line to speak of hopes and dreams, and he inhales, then exhales with haste. “I believe once I assist in saving the worlds, I will have atoned enough for my crimes that I may return to nobility and use that status and power to stop the trade of exspheres.” After those words escape his lips, Regal’s voice becomes solemn as he grips the Combatir family crest. “I would like to form a connection with the girl, Presea, to keep her sister’s memory alive. That’s the most I can do.”

“How about you, Dad?” the brunette turns to ask Kratos, ever silent and brooding.

“I vow to see this twisted world returned to its original form, then to remove my Cruxis crystal and live as a human once more, with my son by my side.”

Their footsteps echo throughout the tower, and by now it was impossible to tell how far they had traversed from the bottom floor, much less how much further they were from top.

“And I want to create a better world where nobody has to be sacrificed and there’s no more meaningless suffering,” Lloyd speaks with astounding conviction, and truth be told, Zelos would be happy doing anything, anywhere if it meant being by Lloyd’s side-- but somehow he couldn’t be happier that they were here, saving the world together.

“What about you, Zelos?” Lloyd asks, moreso to be polite than anything else at this point, considering holding a real conversation was near impossible. Instead, he jots down in his trusted notebook:

_‘Me and you, together.’_

Enough to finally change his nihilistic heart, one tiny step at a time.

//

“They’re coming, Genis,” Mithos says to his right-hand man-- a right-hand man who was merely a boy all on his own, hardly past fourteen in the same way Mithos had spent four thousand years trapped in the mind of someone that very same age. Despite his deathly long lifespan, it seemed eons of trauma, murder, and war had not matured him a day. Somewhere in him, he was still Mithos, the hero in title alone, but the rest of him was long since dead, continuing only to live in the same little gem that was destroying his body.

“Everything you’ve been training for has come down to this. Are you truly prepared to fight against your friends and stand by my side?”

Genis is contemplative at best, increasingly anxious at worst, and in this moment he had no idea what to feel, or even a full recognition of what was to come. His answer remains the same, even as every thought devours him whole.

“Mithos, as long as I’m by your side, I know I can handle anything.”

Their lips touch like a delicate graze that stands every hair on one’s body on end, and nobody but Genis would have been able to believe that Mithos Yggdrasill himself was capable of such tenderness-- or any tenderness at all, for that matter.

“You should prepare yourself. At the rate they’ve been climbing the tower, they’ll be here any moment now.”

Genis turns to the other half-ef, his heart ablaze like never before. “Mithos, I just want you to know, I--”

 _‘I love you’,_ was how he was going to finish that sentence, before the _click_ and turn of the door could be heard. Seconds later, the six heroes pour in bearing weapons and resentful faces. Instead, Genis swallows his secret in silence and grips the hilt of his blade tighter.

“I should have known you would betray me, Kratos.” Young Mithos is smirking now and draws his spears of molten light out of thin air, knowing what was to come. “You know what happened to Yuan, you know what happened to Anna, and you still chose to make such a foolish decision.”

“Lord Yggdrasill, I believe in Lloyd’s ideals. Beyond that, I believe with everything I have left that we will win against you.”

“Ha.” Mithos laughs, chilling and piercing from every corner of the room. “Once I take the chosen’s body, I’m going to kill you first, and I’ll make your son watch.”

Lloyd still struggled to walk, much less to fight-- but as the one to wield the Eternal Sword, staying behind was not an option. Even still, he grabs a single sword from its sheath, clutches his wound in his other hand, and in this moment he was just as ready for battle as any of his companions were.

“So, this is how it ends.” Mithos approaches, spears floating in his wake and beckoning for Genis to accompany. “Prepare to meet your doom, chosen one and your pathetic friends.”

Genis steps forward, clutching a lightweight blade in one hand that had been crafted of only Cruxis’ finest materials. The darkness inside of him begins to burn once more as he joins Mithos’ side, pins and needles aching down the spines of each hero as the silver-haired boy speaks the words _“It’s over.”_

“Then let’s begin.”

Genis’ familiar presence on the opposing side of the battle made things infinitely more complicated, because more than anything, the goal was to bring him back and make him see the light; Raine wanted to fight him _just as much_ as she wanted Mithos to _win_ , and instead, everyone takes to defending themselves from each earth-shattering slice of his blade.

Mithos teleports straight to Zelos in the blink of an eye, who stood en garde to protect the one he loved. The overlord wasn’t here to fight him at all-- instead, he had other, far more malicious and _menacing_ ideas. He wasn’t here to battle; he was here for _victory_.

“Well, I suppose tonight, we find out how much you truly _are_ afraid to die, Zelos.” Lunging forward, Zelos begins to realize with wide eyes that if he didn’t kill Mithos, he was going to become nothing more than either another unfeeling, lifeless corpse that littered the halls of the Tower of Salvation, or worse-- the new body for someone he despised.

He bares his sword, jumping out of the way of Mithos’ selfish hands-- ones that tumbled Zelos’ Key crest between them, no less. 

“You want this back, don’t you? I’d ask you to _beg_ me for it, but you couldn’t even do _that._ ” he taunts and jeers, only managing to make Zelos more _pissed off._ A quick swipe of his blade and a voiceless sneer, and Mithos’ smile only grows.

“Look at you now, Zelos. Can’t even speak. I’d say you’re _nothing_ now, but you’re _less than nothing!_ ”

Mithos tosses the Key crest behind him in haphazard fashion, not a care in the world as to where it could have gone. It was out of his sight and far enough from Zelos’ reach that it was the last thing on his mind as he prepared to take his chosen vessel. Instead, Lloyd sees the tiny alloy clink against the ground, and as his feet patter in haphazard fashion, he knows with _everything in his being_ that he needs to _grab that Key crest_.

Anyone who wasn’t defending the chosen from his impending doom was holding back Genis, doing anything in their power not to hurt him; instead, they block attack after attack, spell after spell, even if only to buy some time. Finally, as Regal swings an arm around Genis’ neck, much as he had done once before, he speaks the words _“Forgive me, Genis”_ before knocking him out cold, laying his body silently on the floor. If they weren’t going to fight him, then instead, they would have to deal with him later-- stopping Mithos with everything they had was far more pressing, and one enemy to fight was much easier than two.

Every swing of Zelos’ sword was coupled with the feeling of wanting to scream and met with no avail; even Sheena’s seals seemed to have little to no effect on the overlord of Cruxis. Mithos Yggdrasill had to be the most formidable opponent the six heroes had ever faced, even if only in title alone, and it was as if each and every attack were only delaying the inevitable. That is, until Zelos had an idea, and it was a _damn good_ one.

 _‘Dammit, if only there were a way to tell everyone to rip his crest off,’_ he ruminates through gritted teeth. Clearly, this was not a battle of swordplay, but one of wits and crystals.

He turns to Lloyd, pointing and gesturing, who scoured the ground for the tiny sparkle of the Key crest against the ground, but even the brunette with a heart in tune with his own couldn’t understand what he meant without a voice. Mithos’ onslaught kept becoming stronger and stronger; his companions, in all their good-hearted nature, could only hold the overlord off for so long.

 _‘GET - THE - KEY - CREST’_ he mouths to Lloyd, who had already been working to accomplish such.The moment Zelos were to remove Mithos’ Rune crest, the half-elf’s life would be effectively over: exactly what he was trying to convey to his companions, who continued to fight a battle of blades instead. Mithos was not going to go down by the tip of a sword, the same way Zelos would not go down with a single whimper.

Unfortunately for him, the bleak feeling of nausea radiated throughout every inch of his body that could still feel. His eyes roll back in the paralyzing feeling caught in his throat, and in that moment, Mithos grabs him by the collar of his shirt, a malevolent grin spread sickeningly wide enough to split his face in two.

“Well, Zelos Wilder, I think it’s time you say goodbye.” Everything about his situation was getting exponentially worse, and with the feeling proliferating in his stomach, there truly was no way out.

“ _Zelos!_ I got it!” Lloyd cries, dashing haphazardly toward the redhead, the Key crest squeezed tightly in his palm. The moment his eyes lock with Zelos’, Mithos releases his grip and instead swats his arm around Lloyd’s neck, grappling him into a cursory swaddle.

“Change of plans. I kill him, _then_ I take your body.”

Zelos snarls, and what little noise would leave his mouth was replaced by seeing red-- red like the blood that flowed from his father’s wrist, red like the crimson snow on the day of his mother’s murder, red like the locks of hair that littered the ground after he threw am all away, red like _Lloyd_.

He raises his fist, and in the time it took to blink, his knuckles had collided directly with Mithos’ temple, leading the overlord to dial backwards and release Lloyd from his twisted grasp. Gazing down at his nimble knuckles, they were swollen and stained crimson red now, too, much like the Key crest that toppled onto the floor once more.

Wiping the blood from his forehead, Mithos gnashes his teeth and smirks poison before jerking Zelos backward by his shaggy hair.

“We’re going to try this again,” he says, and Zelos only begins to feel sicker. Lloyd scrambles to find the Key crest, the only sure-fire way to survive aside from killing Mithos, and the closer the half-elf comes to pulling Zelos into his chest, the more the searing feeling in the base of his throat runs ragged. Instead, Mithos leers directly into the redhead’s caustic eyes.

“You’re scared, just the way I knew you would be. I can tell.” A snicker, long enough to drip venom from his lips. “Any last words, _Zelos Wilder?_ ”

He opens his mouth, hoping for one last breath of air, and he’s gasping until suddenly--

Vomit. And nearly _copious amounts of it._

The angel transformation had finally caused him to expel the contents of his stomach once more, and the timing couldn’t have been any more in the eye of perfection, as Mithos drops the chosen directly onto the ground and wipes the retch from his face. It was clear from his look of disgust that was the last thing Mithos expected to happen; in all fairness, it was the last thing _Zelos_ had expected to happen, too.

Even every blink aches as his eyes roll back before shutting completely, hands trembling while Zelos tries and fails to return to his feet. 

“Zelos! Over here!” Lloyd cries, clutching the Key crest within his palm and rushing toward the redhead. The one voice that rang through his ears that he wished could last forever. Even the light that slid through the cracks of his lashes was too suffocating for Zelos to peel his eyes open, but he could recognize Lloyd’s gentle touch anywhere, even when he couldn’t feel. He hears the _‘click’_ of two gears aligning in perfect harmony, and the Key crest is placed over the crystal once more; the pins and needles are back tenfold, restraining every single disgusting sensation he felt only moments ago.

A feverish gasp, and Zelos was back on his feet with sensation, feeling, and a _voice_ again. _“Guys, grab him, right now!”_ Zelos cries, the pent-up scream that had waited with dear patience leaving his throat at last.

Kratos, Regal, and Sheena sling their arms around the petulant half-elf, restraining him from every limb, and in this moment, Mithos knows that this has to be the end.

Sauntering with spite in everything down to his very _walk,_ Zelos hovers his face mere inches from Mithos’, still stained with his own vomit, and says six simple words: “Mithos, are you afraid to die?”

Mithos’ eyes darted to Genis’ body strewn on the floor, and for perhaps only a second, the answer may have been _‘yes’_. Instead, turning his head back to the chosen, who stands only the length of a dagger away to match the knives gaping from his eyes, Mithos drops his eyelids and smiles the same sly, half-sided grin that Zelos himself had made infamous. As he shuts his eyes, he begins to chuckle in silence before saying one word alone.

“No.”

The moment he receives an answer, Zelos rips the Rune crest from the half elf’s frail body, and as he takes his body, life, and spirit, from the unwavering look in his eyes, Zelos can tell with everything in his being that in those last few moments, Mithos _meant it_.

The redhead’s companions drop their grip on the ruler of the world himself as his body begins to speckle with turquoise crystals, becoming a _parasite_ , a _leech_ , a _cancer_ as the crystallization spreads from the tips of his fingers and through the rest of his body. Here they stand before Mithos, his body no longer anything more than a mass of Angel Toxicosis, and Zelos can’t help but feel a surge of rage at everything that goddamn _monster_ of a half-elf put him through.

Raising his foot, Zelos kicks the mass of crystals to the ground, shattering upon impact, and nothing had ever felt any better than the satisfaction he felt in that very moment. 

“Sorry Kratos. Guess I should have asked if you wanted to do the honours,” he chuckles to break the silence. Considering how long he spent without a voice, Zelos found himself surprised by how _little_ he had to say.

Unfortunately, the lull of satisfaction lasts only the same succession of seconds as Mithos’ confliction of the mind before the Rune crest was torn from his chest.

_“Ungh…”_

Everyone’s vision darts to the corners of the room as they witness Genis rub his temples and begin lifting himself off of the ground, eyes squinted and hands trembling.

“Genis!” Raine cries and rushes to his side, ever the doting older sister. His shaky hands close in around the hilt of his blade, drawing it directly back into his palm. 

“Where’s Mithos?”

Lloyd steps forward, standing only a few simple paces away from his former friend. In his eyes, hopefully he wouldn’t be a ‘ _former friend_ ’ for much longer. “Mithos is dead, and Cruxis is over. You can come with us now.”

Genis’ eyes had never opened wider as the first three words that left Lloyd’s mouth ring through his mind, echoing endlessly and spiraling down into his fist.

_Mithos is dead. Mithos is dead. Mithos is dead. Mithos is dead._

“Hey, Genis, are you okay?” Lloyd extends a hand to help the silver-haired boy onto his feet, but is instead met with a frigid gaze of endlessly burning glaciers.

“You _killed_ him, didn’t you?”

Everyone glances around the room, a response that solidified the answer enough for Genis to raise his blade, despite the magnetic tremors that shot through his system the way those three simple words shot through his heart.

_Mithos is dead. Mithos is dead. Mithos is dead._

Lloyd shakes his head, saying _‘yes’_ and _‘no’_ at the very same time. “Genis. We’re not going to fight you. You can put your weapons down.”

“Screw you. Screw _all of you!_ ” he cries, each word becoming more frantic and hoarse in desperation. “The only person I’ve ever loved! The only person who cared! The only person who _saw something in me_ , who _understood me_ , who _wanted me by their side forever!_ ” His words ring through the tower loud enough to wake the lifeless chosen below, while the party all stay silent instead.

The anger flowing through the boy’s veins begins to feel awfully familiar to Lloyd, who tries his best to keep a promise he made long ago.

“Genis. Talk to me. What’s going through your head right now?”

The half-elf lunges toward Lloyd, blade in hand with _every single intention_ of spilling blood. Lloyd draws a single sword, knowing with all his heart that fighting was out of the question; at the very least, he knew that he could hold back someone he taught the very art of swordplay to until they were calm enough to think rationally.

Genis’ blade clangs against Lloyd’s, while a malicious mix of fire, ice, and _darkness_ all combine within his veins in brutal embrace. _“I hate you! I hate you! I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you all!”_

_Mithos is dead. Mithos is dead._

“You can come back to us! We can create a better world all together!” Sheena yells in vain, but to her and everyone else, it was certainly worth something-- _anything_.

Raine joins in the shouting of worthless platitudes now, but it was all that they could do in such strained moments. “ _Genis!_ Think of all the things we can do for half-elves! We can make a better world for them!”

“There’s nothing left for me to live for, and you’re all to blame! I’ll kill you! _I’ll kill you!_ ”

Lloyd continues to hold off the ruthless onslaught from Genis’ blade; he may be inexperienced, but the sheer amount of rage in each swipe alone certainly could end a life with the wrong series of dodges and guards. “It’s not too late to come back to us!”

“I know _exactly_ how to fight you, Lloyd, because you taught me everything I know!” Genis’ sheer rage could be felt from miles away, twisting and turning around him like a plague. He was far from Genis anymore, instead only acting as a phantom of Mithos’ ideals with tears streaming down his face.

_Mithos is dead._

The half elf with hair of silver raises his blade above his head and jumps as far as his body would allow his, ready to strike--

“Die! Die! _Die!_ ”

A squelching noise stops everyone in their tracks.

_Mithos is--_

Everyone stares in shock as Lloyd pulls his sword away, having intended only to stop the attack, but instead, having stabbed nearly all the way through his frail abdomen. Genis’ fingers drift to his side and he watches crimson red blood pass through his clothes, staining his fingers and the floor-- more blood than he’d ever seen in his _life,_ much less seeping from his own dainty, traitorous body. Wide-eyed and weak-boned, he collapses to the floor and tries his hardest to stop the blood.

_Mithos._

“Raine. He’s not dead. Heal him quickly, I need to save the worlds!” Lloyd cries as he slips the slender ring Kratos had given him onto his finger: the Ring of the Pact and none other, fitting around his finger like a coil that stretched to his heart.

“Genis, things can be different. We can make it different.” Raine cooes into his ear as she hovers her pulsating staff above his wound. “We can do it, together. There _is_ hope for people like us.”

_“Origin! I call upon thee!”_

The half-elven boy’s rage had long subsided, instead only tracing his fingers along the incision in his side and feeling the gentle pulsations that leaked from it in tune. Mithos was gone, and he was alone once more, with nothing but the comfort of his sister’s presence and Lloyd’s gentle, yet roaring voice that echoed throughout his bones--

_“Bestow upon me the Eternal Sword!”_

The violet blade is gripped tightly in Lloyd’s hands by the time Genis draws any attention to anything but the all of the blood on the ground. As much as it pains him, he knows what he must do.

 _“Genis!”_ Raine exclaims as she sees her brother begin lifting himself off of the ground, still clutching his bleeding wound. “Don’t move! You’re hurt!”

“I have to do this, Raine. I promised.” He says nothing more in return, only continuing to walk toward Lloyd, who wielded the sword that would change the worlds forever.

By the time Genis reaches the brunette, he lifts his arm and wraps his childlike fingers around Lloyd’s in a grip that lacks any sort of malice. Instead, he grasps the sword, and together, they raise their voices and cry five words alone:

_“Eternal Sword, unite the worlds!”_

Zelos watches as everything changes rapidly before his eyes, so fast he can hardly process it. Summon spirits, earthquakes, light displays to rival any other-- and yet, all he can find are his eyes glazing over and his heart dripping with an emotion he can’t place.

_“In order for this new world to flourish, the Giant Kharlan Tree must grow.”_

The redhead’s eyes are closed now, his head tilted to the sky, wherever they were. He didn’t know at this point, because all he could think is that it was _all over now._

_“We’ll use Martel’s soul and the Great Seed to nourish the Giant Tree!”_

By now, Zelos is keeled over, and he doesn’t know where they are or what’s going on. All he knows is that there was no reason for him to be anything other than himself anymore; the moment that very thought crosses his mind, he finds a pair of familiar arms wrapped around him, and suddenly, everything is perfect.

_“Rise, Giant Kharlan Tree!”_

Zelos’ knees hit the ground, and for the first time since the day his father died, tears began to spill from his eyes.

“It’s okay, Zelos.” Lloyd holds him ever tighter, whispering each word in his ear with care and tenderness only he could ignite in Zelos’ bones.

“It’s over. You can live for you now.”

For the first time in longer than he could possibly remember, there is no cloud of anger, resentment, or spite over his heart, and there is no mask shielding everything about himself that he liked out of fear and survival. He is no longer the chosen, and his life is finally his own to share with the only person he’s ever loved. If he could ascribe it to anything, it was like butterflies that started in his stomach and fluttered up into his throat, or perhaps the feeling of warmth in his chest comparable only to a sunset spent with Lloyd by his side. Even that didn’t do the sensation that engulfed his body any justice.

 _“I love you, Lloyd,”_ he finally says in his own words, in his own voice, before Lloyd whispers softly back in his ear _“I love you too, Zelos.”_ Tears fall down his face all the while and he only _lets them,_ because he’s _happy_ , really, truly, honestly, and genuinely _happy_. For the first time in his life, he embraces vulnerability before a smirk creeps across his face. 

Some things really don’t feel like anything else, _and they never can._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well after two years of work and some time spent thinking this fic would end up being “that 100k fic I dream about writing that never sees the light of day”, here we are. If you liked it, the good news is what was originally going to be an epilogue has become a sequel. If you didn’t like it, thanks for reading to the end anyways.
> 
> As of 7/2/20, you can now click through and read the sequel, Absurdities and Echoes, below:


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